TWO 
SHALL  BE  BOKN 


"Yes,  oh,  yes,  if  you  will.     If  you  only  will!"  she  breathed 


TWO 
SHALL  BE  BORN 


BY 

MARIE  CONWAY  OEMLER 

Author  of  "SLIPPY  McGEi,"  "A  WOMAN  NAMED  SMITH,' 

"THE  PURPLE  HEIGHTS,"  "WHERE  THE 

YOUNG  CHILD  WAS,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1922 


Copyright,  1922,  by 
THE  CENTUBY  Co. 


PRINTED    IN    U.    S.    A. 


To 
ALAN  NORTON  OEMLER 

There  are  all  sorts  of  presents  one  gives  to  one's  boys: 
When  they  are  little,  then  one  gives  them  toys; 
A  little  bit  larger,  and  one  gives  them  spanks; 
What  shall  one  give  when  they  lengthen  their  shanks? 
When  sore  toes  and  torn  breeches  no  longer  are  seen, 
And  hands  they  are  washen,  and  ears  they  are  clean, 
When  college  commences,  and  high  school  is  past. 
(Alas,  that  a  growing  boy  grows  up  so  fast!) 
Well,  some  things  I  've  given  you ;  others  you  took ; 
Beloved  Mister  Freckleface,  take  now  a  book! 


2137495 


CHARACTERS 

FLORIAN  SIGISMUND  CASIMIR,  COUNT  ZULESKI:  Sci- 
entist, Scholar,  Revolutionary. 

MABYA  JADWIGA  ZULESKA,  His  DAUGHTER:  The 
Little  Countess. 

WENCESLAUS:    Nobody  but  Himself. 

KARL  OTTO  JOHANN,  BARON  VON  RITTENHEIM:  The 
Overlord. 

CZADOWSKA:     Of  the  Secret  Police. 

"WlNCENTY  THE  GlPSY. 

JOSIKA:     Of  the  Tribe  of  Judas. 

SERGEI  :     Wild  Justice. 

FRANCISZKA:    A  Trap. 

JAN  DZYLINSKI:    Of  the  Brotherhood. 

FRITZ:    An  Efficient  Person. 

THE  MAN  WHO  PAID. 

A  JAPANESE  GENTLEMAN. 

DOMINICK  KELLY  :     The  Big  Boss. 

BRIAN  KELLY:     The  Beautiful  Cop. 

JAMES  DARLINGTON:    An  Ornamental  Young  Man. 

Miss  HONORA  KELLY:    A  Sweet  Old  Maid. 

COLETTE  O 'SHANE:    Maker  of  Costumes. 

MRS.  CALLAGHAN:    A  Widow. 

JOHN  CRYSOSTOM  CALLAGHAN:    A  Student. 

MARY  HALLET  :  1    .    ... 

4  Artists. 
JACQUES :          j 

A  NIGHTHAWK. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

I    THE  HOUSE  OF  ZULESKI 3 

II    THE  MOON'S  GODCHILD 23 

III  THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE 48 

IV  FLIGHT 80 

V    BLUE   EAKRINGS 98 

VI    THE  KITE 116 

VII    THE  HOUSE  OF  KELLY 154 

VIII    THE  BEAUTIFUL  COP 177 

IX    THE  OLYMPIAN  IDIOT 198 

X  A  COURSE  IN  ETHICS  AND  HUMANITIES  215 

XI     THE  TRAP 226 

XII    WENCESLAUS  PASSES 239 

XIII  OUT  OF  DARKNESS  THEY  SHALL  MEET  .   258 

XIV  A  MAN  AND  A  MAID 275 

XV  How  TO  TIP  A  POLICEMAN      .     .     .     .297 

XVI  A  DOVE  HENPECKS  AN  EAGLE  .     .     .  316 

XVII  JOHN  CHRYSOSTOM  INTERVENES  .     .     .  335 

XVIII  THE  COP  AND  THE  COUNTESS      .      .      .  351 

XIX    GOD — AND  BRIAN  KELLY 374 

XX  "AND  READ  LIFE'S  MEANING  IN  EACH 

OTHER'S  EYES"  .  396 


TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 


Two  shall  be  born  the  whole  wide  world  apart, 

And  speak  in  different  tongues,  and  have  no  thought 

Each  of  the  other's  being,  and  no  heed; 

And  these  o'er  unknown  seas,  to  unknown  lands, 

Shall  cross,  escaping  wreck,  defying  death; 

And  all  unconsciously  shape  every  act 

And  bend  each  wandering  step  to  this  one  end, — 

That  some  day  out  of  darkness  they  shall  meet, 

And  read  life's  meaning  in  each  other's  eyes. 

—SUSAN  MARE  SPAULDWG 


TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  HOUSE  OF  ZULESKI 

WHAT  on  the  outside  was  a  castle, — a  tur- 
reted,  gray,  picturesque  pile  bulking  im- 
mense and  mysterious  on  low  hilltops,  with 
a  sweep  of  black  forest  behind  and  a  thin,  marshy 
country  before, — on  the  inside  was  something  like 
last  year's  nut  that  the  squirrels  and  the  little 
boring  beetles  have  finished  with.  It  had  borne 
the  brunt  of  savage  centuries,  of  Russian,  German, 
Polish,  and  Lithuanian  aggressions  and  reprisals;  it 
had  known  the  grim  Brethren  of  the  Sword,  the  ter- 
rible Teutonic  Knights,  the  avenging  Livonian  Order. 
All  had  harrowed  and  winnowed  it;  there  had  been 
much  mauling  and  bloodletting.  But  by  some  jape 
of  fate  it  had  nevertheless  remained  in  the  hands  of 
the  original  proprietors,  or  at  least  their  descendants 
the  Zuleski,  though,  bit  by  bit,  lands  and  privileges 
had  gone ;  until  now  there  was  just  barely  enough  left 
to  keep  the  last  lord,  the  noble  Count  Florian  Sigis- 
mund  Casimir,  the  little  lady  Marya  Jadwiga  his 
daughter,  and  "Wenceslaus  his  servant  from  literally 
sleeping  under  the  sky  and  starving  to  death. 

3 


4  TWO  SHALL  BE  BOKN 

Of  interior  decorations  and  furnishings  nothing 
remained  save  some  very  lovely  old  mantels  and 
carved  door  and  window  casings.  The  walls  were 
bare  of  hangings,  the  black  oak  floors  of  carpets,  the 
windows  of  curtains,  the  table  of  silver.  In  one  or 
two  stripped  rooms  a  few  distressingly  dingy  and  for- 
bidding portraits  still  glowered  forlornly,  and  among 
these  a  lady's  cheek  had  been  laid  open  by  a  sword 
slash,  a  cardinal's  nose  had  been  cut  off  at  the  tip, 
— as  though  to  caution  cardinals  from  meddling  in 
secular  affairs, — and  a  count's  eyes  had  been  as  neatly 
thrust  out  by  a  lance  as  though  the  original  had  fallen 
alive  into  the  hands  of  Cossacks.  Those  empty  eye- 
holes followed  the  visitor  with  a  sort  of  persistent  dis- 
trust. In  his  time  the  poor  gentleman  had  probably 
seen  so  much  rapine,  murder,  and  betrayal,  that  one 
could  scarce  blame  him  for  glaring  suspiciously  upon 
all  comers. 

In  that  country  caught  between  the  grinding 
Teutonic  thumb  and  the  gripping  Russian  forefinger, 
people  were  enabled  to  develop  to  a  very  rare  per- 
fection the  fine  art  of  unslaked  hate — hate  without 
ceasing,  from  cradle  to  grave,  from  generation  to 
generation,  father  to  son,  mother  to  daughter.  Count 
Florian  Zuleski  inherited  this  hate,  by  way  of  the 
blood.  His  great-grandfather  died  of  a  sword-punc- 
ture of  the  lungs  in  the  year  of  grace  1831,  in  which 
year  Paskevitch  retook  Warsaw  for  Russia  so  roughly 
that  the  gutters  of  Warsaw  ran  red.  The  count's 
grandfather  died  with  equal  swiftness  in  1863,  another 
year  of  the  shedding  of  blood.  His  father,  exiled 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ZULESKI  5 

to  Siberia  in  1870,  never  returned.  He  had  been,  and 
he  was  not.  The  Lord  giveth,  and  the  Tsar  taketh 
away,  his  lady  widow  said,  with  a  thin  smile.  Nat- 
urally, his  small  son  learned  to  hate  properly. 

There  was  an  end,  then,  of  Zuleski  fortunes. 
Florian  Zuleski  grew  up  in  a  rarefied  atmosphere  of 
extremely  plain  living  and  high  thinking,  in  a  flat 
in  Warsaw,  under  the  shadow  of  the  wing  of  a  sad 
and  silent  mother.  That  the  last  Zuleski  had  been 
allowed  to  retain  the  last  family  possession,  the  shell 
of  an  old  house  in  Courland,  was  in  the  nature  of 
irony  rather  than  generosity:  the  kernel  filched,  the 
crumbling  shell  not  worth  taking  over,  he  was  per- 
mitted to  keep  what  nobody  else  wanted  or  could  use. 

The  young  man  was  graduated  from  the  University 
of  Warsaw  with  the  honors  of  his  class.  He  had  an 
acute  and  brilliant  intellect,  the  bright  beginning  of 
a  great  reputation;  and  the  faculty  gladly  retained 
him  as  assistant  professor  of  astronomy.  Later  he 
was  given  the  chair  of  philology,  and  helped  awake 
modern  Europe  to  the  enormous  value  of  the  science 
of  languages.  When  he  married  the  orphan  daugh- 
ter of  a  house  as  old,  poor,  proud,  and  tragic  as  his 
own,  he  removed  at  her  instigation  to  the  more  thor- 
oughly Polish  Cracow;  and  here  he  resided,  not 
without  high  scholarly  honor  and  some  worldly  profit, 
until  her  death — an  event  which  plunged  him  into 
despair,  a  blow  from  which  he  could  not  recover. 
With  the  infant  daughter  she  had  left  him,  he  fled  to 
the  ruinous  house  in  Courland,  into  the  heart  of  a 
seclusion  from  which  he  never  afterward  emerged. 


6  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

From  this  forlorn  retreat  in  that  part  of  the  country 
least  fertile  and  most  thinly  settled,  supplied  with 
the  most  meager  means,  the  Count  Professor  never- 
theless managed  to  send  forth  from  time  to  time  those 
philological  and  astronomical  treatises  which  are  now 
international  textbooks.  His  brilliant  and  original 
essays,  which  seemed  as  it  were  powerful  searchlights 
piercing  and  illuminating  hitherto  unknown  and 
unguessed  pathways,  brought  him  the  hearty  friend- 
ship of  scientists  everywhere ;  and  he  counted  among 
his  correspondents  the  great  intellectuals  of  his  gener- 
ation. This  quiet  gentleman  living  in  strict  seclusion 
in  a  barren  corner  of  a  Baltic  province  was  no  mean 
citizen  of  the  world. 

The  world  would  never  suspect  the  personable 
scholar  of  being  other  than  he  seemed.  Yet  Count 
Florian  knew  he  would  have  been  entitled  to  free 
lodgings  in  the  Fortress  of  Saints  Peter  and  Paul,  or 
even  been  given  the  decoration  of  the  Order  of  the 
Hempen  Collar,  if  an  opportune  bullet  had  not  found 
its  way  to  a  Russian  heart  before  a  Russian  tongue 
could  tell  a  certain  tale,  in  that  grisly  year  of  murder 
1906.  He  smiled  crookedly  whan  he  thought  of  that 
affair,  which  had  upon  it  the  flavor  of  fatality,  a  savor 
familiar  to  Slavic  palates.  For  Czadowska  himself 
had  missed  that  information  by  a  hairbreath.  Cza- 
dowska, however,  by  that  hound's  flair  of  his  which 
made  him  the  most  deadly  and  dreaded  of  all  Russian 
secret  police  agents,  seemed  thenceforward  to  divine 
that  something  or  somebody  was  not  altogether  sound 
in  that  corner.  He  developed  a  habit  of  appearing 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ZULESKI  7 

there  when  least  expected,  as  though  fallen  from  the 
sky  or  popped  up  from  underground.  The  Junker 
proprietors  of  the  great  estates  seldom  made  trouble 
for  the  Little  Father,  and  they  always  welcomed 
Czadowska,  giving  such  information  as  they  had  which 
might  be  useful  to  him.  He  did  not  like  Germans  any 
more  than  he  liked  Letts,  Poles,  Esthonians,  or  Jews, 
but  he  respected  their  power.  Not  one  of  them  ever 
mentioned  to  him  Count  Florian  Zuleski,  whom  they 
despised  because,  for  all  his  learning,  he  did  not  seem 
to  have  wit  enough  to  get  on  in  the  world. 

Smiling,  well  bred,  smoothshaven,  with  dark  hair, 
a  Russian  nose,  and  eyes  the  color  of  young  grapes, 
Czadowska  was  possessed,  apparently,  of  good  nature 
that  was  disarming.  -Count  Florian  paid  him  the 
tribute  of  a  grim  admiration,  which  Czadowska 
returned  in  full  measure.  When  Czadowska,  after 
adroitly  questioning  him,  gave  him  an  opening,  the 
count  liked  to  enter  into  a  discussion  of  the  Lithuanian 
language,  whose  root  words  he  thought  akin  to  San- 
skrit. Or  he  would  mention  something  he  had  read 
in  one  of  the  many  magazines  and  books  and  letters 
which  kept  him  in  touch  with  the  front  ranks.  Or 
in  his  turn  he  questioned  Czadowska,  who  was  a  very 
well-informed  man,  about  the  newer  Russian  intel- 
lectuals. Czadowska  sensed  in  this  easy  questioning, 
so  different  from  his  own,  the  strength  of  his  adver- 
sary, and  the  count's  sureness  of  himself.  There 
might  even  be  a  touch  of  contempt  in  it,  he  reflected. 

Count  Florian  was  an  excellent  and  enthusiastic 
naturalist,  to  whom  the  wandering  gipsies  at  times 


8  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

brought  such  uncommon  things  as  they  came  across. 
Should  Monsieur  Czadowska  in  the  course  of  his 
peregrinations  through  the  Russias  stumble  upon 
anything  interesting  in  that  line,  would  he  be  so  kind 
as  to  bear  an  isolated  student  in  mind?  To  save  his 
life,  Czadowska,  who  had  a  Russian 's  very  real  respect 
for  learning,  could  not  help  being  flattered  by  such 
a  request  from  such  a  man.  He  would  be  delighted 
to  keep  the  count  in  mind!  He  almost  liked  Count 
Florian.  Yet,  because  his  sixth  sense  bade  him  be 
on  guard,  he  meant  to  keep  a  very  watchful  eye  upon 
the  noble  gentleman,  who  always  bade  him  a  polite 
farewell,  urged  him  to  come  again,  and  rather  hoped 
that  before  this  ornament  of  Russian  bureaucracy 
could  find  his  way  back  to  Courland  a  bullet  would 
find  its  way  to  what  passed  for  Czadowska 's  heart. 

And  while  Count  Florian  wrote  and  studied  and 
plotted  and  sowed  dragons'  teeth,  the  baby  he  had 
brought  with  him  into  his  tumble-down  keep  had  noth- 
ing to  do  but  grow.  She  accomplished  this  as 
naturally  as  any  other  wild  flower  does.  She  was 
not  interested  in  anything  but  being  alive;  in  the 
long  games  she  played  all  by  herself ;  in  the  lonesome 
country  around  her;  and  in  trotting  beside  big 
Wenceslaus,  holding  fast  to  one  of  his  large  fingers 
with  five  of  her  small  ones. 

Wenceslaus  bounded  the  child's  whole  horizon. 
Whatever  was  to  be  done  in  that  household,  Wences- 
laus did,  except  for  the  help  a  lumpish  woman  gave 
in  the  kitchen.  He  had  chosen  this  particular  woman 
because  she  was  deaf  and  dumb,  and  one  conversed 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ZULESKI  9 

with  her  by  means  of  uncouth  signs,  or  with  nudges. 
Peasants  who  hear  and  talk  do  both.  By  taking  in 
this  being  to  whom  nobody  else  would  give  work, 
Wenceslaus  killed  two  birds  with  one  stone :  he  pleased 
God  with  his  charity,  and  had  for  his  pains  a  surly 
deaf-mute  who  could  neither  spy  nor  betray. 

The  count  never  bothered  his  head  about  little 
Marya  Jadwiga,  one  way  or  the  other.  If  any  child 
could  have  partly  consoled  him,  it  would  have  been 
a  son  who  could  carry  on  the  name  which  would 
become  extinct  with  himself.  If  he  thought  of  the 
little  girl  at  all,  in  those  early  years  of  hers,  it  must 
have  been  with  something  like  bitterness  and  resent- 
ment. 

Marya  Jadwiga  was  thus  left  entirely  in  charge  of 
Wenceslaus.  Wenceslaus  was  the  count's  brother, 
by  the  left  hand.  The  count's  father,  a  good-natured 
man  enough,  had  acknowledged  his  responsibility  by 
having  the  boy  taught  to  read  and  write.  Wenceslaus 
was  grateful.  He  was  delighted  with  his  noble  father 
when  he  looked  around  him  and  saw  other  people's 
fathers.  His  pleasure  in  his  father  was  not  lessened 
when  his  mother  presently  married  an  ill-natured 
Lett,  many  years  younger  than  herself.  Wen- 
ceslaus's  stepfather  had  the  nobility  related  to  him 
by  yet  another  left-handed  tie,  in  the  person  of  his 
sister's  child,  Franciszka.  He  had  been  irate  at  the 
advent  of  Franciszka,  and  chose  to  consider  his  sister 
wronged,  ignoring  the  patent  fact  that  nobody  can 
be  wronged  who  refuses  to  be  right.  In  a  house  where 
she  was  more  than  unwelcome,  Franciszka,  too,  fell 


10  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

heir  to  a  heritage  of  hate — a  hate  all  the  more  bitter 
for  that  she  was  never  quite  free  from  hunger,  that 
the  summers  burned  and  the  winters  froze  her,  and 
her  coarse  and  scanty  clothes  covered  but  did  not 
grace  her  handsome  person. 

Marya  Jadwiga  first  saw  Franciszka  when  Wen- 
ceslaus  had  to  take  the  little  girl  with  him  on  a  visit 
to  his  stepfather's  house,  during  his  old  mother's 
last  illness.  Franciszka  was  then  a  magnificent 
creature,  warmly  dark,  richly  colored,  intimately 
feminine.  She  looked  at  the  child  clinging  to  Wen- 
ceslaus's  hand,  and  her  large  black  eyes  smoldered. 
Both  of  the  girls  were  the  daughters  of  noblemen. 
But  Marya  Jadwiga  bore  her  father's  name  and  lived 
with  him  in  his  house.  Poorly  dressed,  raised  as 
hardily  as  any  peasant  of  them  all,  she  was  never- 
theless a  noblewoman,  the  Countess  Zuleska,  to  whom 
must  presently  be  said,  Gracious  Lady.  So  the  girl 
who  was  nameless  looked  at  the  child  whose  name 
was  Zuleska,  and  suddenly  and  ferociously,  with  a 
frightful  jealousy,  she  hated  her,  with  a  hate  made  up 
of  envy  and  rage.  But,  being  a  sensible  girl,  she 
showed  her  teeth  in  a  smile  instead  of  a  snarl,  and 
the  child,  -who  adored  beauty,  was  delighted  with 
the  glowing  face. 

"I  love  to  look  at  you,  Franciszka,"  she  said 
naively.  "It  is  beautiful  to  see  you  smile.  I  wish  I 
looked  like  you  instead  of  like  our  cat ! ' ' 

"Why,  it  is  so:  you  do  look  like  the  cat!"  said 
Franciszka,  pleasedly,  after  a  long  stare  at  the  heart- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ZULESKI  11 

shaped  face  with  its  delicate  and  sharp  profile,  its 
gray-green  eyes.  ''But  you  do  not  have  to  care. 
You  are  the  count's  daughter."  She  forgot  the 
ruined  house,  the  bare  larder,  the  fact  that  the  count 's 
daughter  was  unloved  and  unwelcome,  except  of  one 
most  loving  manservant. 

Marya  Jadwiga  went  right  on  growing.  The  birds 
taught  her  to  sing  and  to  whistle  like  one  of  them- 
selves. She  had  the  unstudied  grace  of  a  young 
animal.  She  danced  as  the  flowers  dance  in  the 
breeze,  as  the  shadows  of  trees  dance  upon  moving 
water.  She  had,  as  she  had  told  Franciszka,  the  cat- 
face, — that  fine,  feline  face  that  perpetuates  the  magic 
of  Egypt, — with  long  and  very  slightly  oblique  eyes 
under  penciled  black  brows,  features  of  exquisite 
purity  of  outline,  and  a  mouth  gay,  grave,  beneficent, 
and  mocking.  Against  her  skin  of  healthy  pallor  her 
gray-green  eyes  had  the  effect  of  moonlight  shimmer- 
ing on  snow,  and  her  thick,  straight  black  hair,  which 
made  a  clear  line  upon  her  forehead,  was  fine  and 
cloudy.  Not  beautiful,  strictly  speaking.  But  about 
the  young  face  was  already  that  indefinable  and 
indescribable  something  which  ensnares  and  enchants. 

On  the  morning  of  Marya  Jadwiga 's  tenth  birthday, 
Count  Florian,  with  Wenceslaus  just  behind  him, 
happened  to  pause  by  a  window  which  looked  down 
upon  the  stone-flagged  courtyard.  There  a  slim  and 
elfin  thing  danced  like  a  leaf  in  the  "wind.  Invol- 
untarily the  two  men  paused  to  watch;  and  the 
father's  eyes  were  less  tender  than  the  other  two. 


12  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"Look  at  her,  panie!"  Wenceslaus  spoke  with  pas- 
sion. "She  begins  to  grow  up.  Think  of  what  she 
has — and  what  she  should  have ! ' ' 

Marya  Jadwiga  had  dropped  her  skirts,  to  fling  her 
arms  above  her  head.  She  was  movement,  and  grace, 
and  art,  gay  and  glad  and  innocent,  her  small  face 
alight,  her  eyes  like  beryls.  As  though  he  saw  his 
child  for  the  first  time,  her  father  started,  leaned  for- 
ward, and  stared  with  narrowed  eyes. 

"There  is  something  to  her!"  said  he,  presently, 
pinching  his  thin  lips  with  his  long  yellow  fingers. 
"Her  mother's  mother  was  a  witch-like  woman — 
something  like  this  child.  She  had  only  to  look  at 
men,  with  her  green  eyes,  and  they  were  hers,  her 
slaves,  if  she  chose.  It  is  a  terrible  power,  that. 
Perhaps — " 

Wenceslaus  made  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"I  should  say,  decidedly,  there  is  something  to 
the  child,"  said  the  count,  brooding  down  upon  her. 
"A  woman — a  beautiful,  trained,  fascinating  woman 
— the  most  deadly  of  all  weapons.  Perhaps — " 

Wenceslaus  saw  the  light  that  leaped  to  the  master 's 
eyes,  and  his  own  filled  with  fear.  He  spread  out 
his  arms  with  a  protesting  and  protecting  gesture. 

"She  is  a  child,  a  little,  young  girl-child,  panie!" 
he  whispered. 

The  count  said  nothing  for  a  few  moments.  He 
watched  the  dancing  fairy  figure.  Then,  "See  that 
my  daughter  comes  to  my  study  every  day  after  this," 
he  said.  "I  must  take  her  education  in  hand."  And, 
seeing  Wenceslaus  turn  pale,  he  added,  not  unkindly : 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ZULESKI  13 

"As  you  say,  she  begins  to  grow  up.  I  think  she 
may  grow  beautiful;  more  than  beautiful,  of  the 
charm  that  takes — and  keeps.  Also,  we  are  much 
too  poor  to  send  her  away  to  a  proper  school. 
Decidedly,  then,  I  must  take  my  daughter 's  education 
in  hand!" 

Brother  looked  into  the  eyes  of  brother. 

"It  is  highly  ironical,"  said  the  count,  "that  the 
daughter  of  a  Polish  astronomer  should  not  know  her 
native  skies,  that  the  child  of  a  grammarian  should 
be  ignorant  of  the  subtleties  of  her  native  tongue. ' ' 

"Panic!" 

"To-morrow.  At  about  ten,  I  think."  The  tone 
was  final. 

Marya  Jadwiga  went  to  the  library  unwillingly. 
That  she  sang  and  danced  and  knew  folklore,  and  was 
good  and  glad  and  healthy,  she  owed  to  Nature  and 
to  Wenceslaus.  She  rebelled  at  more  formal  instruc- 
tion, quick  as  was  her  native  intelligence.  Her 
father  saw  that  he  must  win  her  interest  and  confi- 
dence, if  he  wished  to  mold  her,  and  his  methods  were 
peculiar  to  himself.  One  clear  and  calm  night  he 
took  the  child  to  a  large  window,  pointing  to  the  sky 
thick  with  stars.  Planet  by  planet  he  named  them. 

"That  large,  bright  star,  up  there,  is  where  my 
mother  lives,"  she  was  moved  to  tell  him.  "I  al- 
ways watch  for  it;  it  shines  right  down  on  my  bed, 
as  if  it  knew  me.  I  know  it  sees  me." 

The  husband  of  the  lost  wife  winced.  But  he  said 
calmly : 

' '  It  sees  more  than  you,  who  are  only  one  little  girl. 


14  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

It  sees  Poland — your  mother's  Poland — our  Po- 
land— enslaved  and  in  chains.  Once  it  saw  Poland 
free  and  great." 

A  shadow  fell  upon  the  child's  sensitive  face;  her 
lips  quivered.  The  count  laid  his  hand  upon  her 
shoulder. 

"We  will  not  despair,  my  child.  That  day  is  com- 
ing which  will  see  the  devourers  devouring  not  us 
but  each  other."  With  somber  eyes  he  stared  out 
at  the  night.  "We  needed  subtler  weapons:  and  we 
thought  our  long  lances  enough!"  He  turned  then, 
and  looked  down  at  the  child  strangely.  "I  who 
have  given  so  much,"  he  asked  himself,  "shall  1 
scruple  to  give — all  ? ' '  And  he  fell  into  a  reverie. 

Once,  coming  out  of  just  such  a  reverie,  he  bade 
Marya  Jadwiga  bring  him  a  certain  book,  and  began 
to  read,  with  great  feeling,  the  "Nieboska  Komedja" 
of  Sigismund  Krasinski,  the  "Undivine  Comedy"  of 
Poland.  Marya  Jadwiga  was  delighted  with  the  swing 
and  the  sweep  of  the  words,  which  had  the  sharp, 
bright  kiss  of  sword  blades  flashing  in  and  out  of  their 
bitter,  mocking  mysticism.  She  was  too  young  to 
understand  them,  but  the  great  sound  of  them  pleased 
her,  and  her  face  glowed.  With  a  smile  of  satisfac- 
tion her  father  laid  the  book  aside. 

"We  will  study  languages,  you  and  I,"  he  decided. 
And  he  drew  up  a  list  which  looked  so  formidable 
that  the  child  cried  in  dismay.  Immediately,  smiling 
at  her,  he  began  to  recite  "The  Erl-King,"  in  mag- 
nificent German.  Her  tears  ceased,  and  when  he  had 
finished  she  clasped  her  hands.  The  little  she  had 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ZULESKI  15 

heard  had  opened,  as  it  were,  a  door  through  which 
light  began  to  stream. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  will  learn." 

' '  Good !  And  now  open  that  little  desk,  over  there 
in  the  corner,  and  bring  me  what  you  find  in  the  in- 
side drawer. ' '  He  handed  her  a  small  key. 

'She  found  nothing  in  the  inside  drawer  but  an  old, 
old  crucifix  of  most  beautiful  workmanship,  in  a 
worn  velvet  case. 

"Your  mother — "  the  count  spoke  with  an  effort — 
"pressed  this  to  her  lips  as  she  lay  dying.  It  was 
on  her  breast  in  her  coffin.  I  took  it  from  her  hands. ' ' 
And  while  the  child,  deeply  moved,  watched  him  with 
serious  eyes,  he  said  imperiously : 

"Hold  it  up,  in  both  your  hands." 

And,  holding  it  up  in  both  her  hands,  Marya  Jad- 
wiga  repeated  in  her  childish  voice  the  words  he  bade 
her  say.  She  would  never  repeat  or  reveal  what  she 
might  see,  hear,  or  learn  in  that  house;  never  name 
by  name  or  recognize  by  sight  certain  of  those  who 
came  there  unless  they  first  gave  her  a  sign  that  she 
might  do  so.  She  was  to  hold  her  life  in  her  fingers 
— for  Poland.  What  she  must  do  she  would  do,  with- 
out noise,  always  obeying  orders.  Poland's  foes  her 
foes,  Poland's  friends  her  friends;  brain,  heart,  soul, 
life — to  death — all  these  for  Poland.  Amen! 

She  sighed  with  relief  when  it  was  over  and  she 
had  replaced  the  old  crucifix.  Then  her  father  took 
her  face  in  his  hands  and  kissed  her  forehead,  not 
fatherly,  but  as  one  consecrated  to  his  cause. 

"You  are  the  last  of  my  name,  of  my  blood,"  he 


16  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

said,  with  pride  and  pain.    "You  are  to  be  my  son 
as  well  as  my  daughter." 

Then  he  began  to  teach  her  the  signs.  Over  and 
over  and  over,  until  she  was  letter-perfect,  he  made 
her  repeat  the  almost  imperceptible  motions:  she 
would  not  fail  to  recognize  and  to  answer.  Every 
day  she  went  to  the  dusty,  huge  room,  bare  except  for 
books  and  desk.  The  immense  fireplace  had  been 
boarded  up,  and  in  winter  the  great  room  was  heated 
by  a  large  iron  stove.  Over  in  a  corner  a  narrow 
wooden  stairway  led  to  a  corner  tower  which,  as  it 
happened  to  be  almost  intact,  the  count  used  for  an 
observatory.  Here,  in  small  tower  and  large  library, 
the  little  girl  who  was  the  last  Zuleski  was  grilled 
and  grueled  and  taught  in  a  manner  that  would  have 
made  any  modern  teacher  of  girls  collapse.  In  this 
schoolroom  the  single  pupil  learned  and  digested  and 
accepted  without  asking  too  many  questions ! 

New,  strange  bits  of  knowledge  were  always 
seeping  into  that  library,  which  was  a  sort  of  hidden 
reservoir  into  which,  from  all  sorts  of  sources,  vital 
information  trickled  and  settled.  It  did  not  come 
openly:  it  came  by  devious  routes  and  by  the  most 
unlikely  couriers  and  carriers. 

Did  a  certain  great  power  unobtrusively  extend  a 
railway,  build  a  strategic  bridge,  secretly  test  a  new 
gun,  explosive,  aircraft,  submarine?  Was  there  se- 
cret foregathering  with  emissaries  of  another  great 
power?  Was  there  a  treaty  or  an  understanding? 
Did  an  order  go  forth  from  a  war  department,  and 
were  there  shifting  of  heads  of  departments,  and 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ZULESKI  17 

movements  of  men  in  consequence?  Zuleski  knew! 
Bit  by  bit,  detail  by  detail,  information  was  gathered 
and  sifted ;  maps  and  charts  and  plans  were  of  so  ter- 
rifying an  accuracy  that  his  life — and  the  lives  of 
certain  others — would  not  have  been  worth  the  thou- 
sandth part  of  a  pfennig  or  a  copeck,  if  in  certain 
exalted  quarters  there  had  been  an  inkling  that  they 
existed.  He  had  to  guard  against  this,  and  he  did  it 
with  unparalleled  skill  and  ingenuity.  He  played  his 
game  with  the  passion  of  a  patriot  and  the  cunning  of 
a  madman. 

Marya  Jadwiga  began  to  notice  curious  happenings. 
For  instance,  consider  "Wincenty  the  gipsy. 

The  gipsies  had  always  been  allowed  to  encamp 
near  the  ruins  of  a  small  church  on  the  old  estate — 
a  pleasant,  peaceful,  secret  place,  between  low  hills. 
It  was  Marya  Jadwiga 's  own  favorite  haunt,  and  she 
always  hated  to  see  the  gipsies  occupy  it;  they  were 
not  too  cleanly.  Wincenty  was  perhaps  the  dullest- 
faced  and  least  romantic  of  his  tribe,  until  he  tucked 
his  old  violin  under  his  chin.  Then  "Wincenty  the 
gipsy  was  a  musician  of  genius,  as  gipsies  very  often 
are. 

Yet  it  was  not  music  which  brought  him  to  the 
castle,  nor  that  won  the  ear  of  Count  Florian  Zuleski, 
as  Marya  Judwiga  knew.  One  afternoon  she  herself 
had  led  Wincenty  to  her  father,  who  seemed  to  have 
been  expecting  him  with  a  certain  impatience.  When 
the  young  girl  closed  the  door  upon  the  pair,  they  were 
standing  close  together,  talking  in  low  voices,  very 
earnestly. 


18  TWO  SHALL  BE  BOKN 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  mysteriously  as  he  always 
appeared,  Czadowska  came.  He  had  brought  some 
chrysalids  of  the  steppes,  for  which  the  count  had  ex- 
pressed a  desire.  Wenceslaus,  at  the  visitor's  request, 
conducted  him  to  the  library,  Marya  Jadwiga  at  his 
heels ;  for  she  too,  wished  to  see  the  chrysalids.  When 
her  father  bade  them  enter,  Wincenty  the  gipsy  was 
not  in  the  room. 

She  was  puzzled.  The  man  had  not  gone  up  on  the 
roofs :  why  should  he  have  done  so  ?  Most  certainly, 
he  had  not  come  downstairs,  or  she  would  have  seen 
him :  she  had  been  sitting  in  the  big  lower  hall,  facing 
the  stairs.  Yet,  even  as  she  reflected,  the  strains  of 
Wincenty 's  violin  came  from  the  courtyard.  The 
gipsy  played  his  wild  airs  so  exquisitely,  with  such 
fire  and  feeling,  that  Czadowska — who,  like  many 
scoundrels,  was  morbidly  susceptible  to  music — ran 
to  the  window,  clapped  his  hands,  and  threw  the 
fellow  a  coin. 

Wincenty  continued  to  come  and  go,  mysteriously. 
On  one  occasion  Marya  Jadwiga,  opening  the  library 
door,  found  him  with  her  father,  and  saw  the  count 
draw  from  his  pocket  a  gold  coin  and  offer  it  to  the 
gipsy.  Wincenty  of  a  sudden  seemed  to  be  quite 
somebody  else.  He  lifted  his  head,  and  with  a  stately 
and  proud  gesture  of  reproach  refused  the  gold.  For 
a  moment  the  two  stood,  eye  to  eye.  Then  the  count, 
with  his  rare  and  beautiful  smile,  held  out  his  hand, 
which  the  gipsy  seized  and  held  to  breast  and  fore- 
head. Then  he  made  a  profound  obeisance,  and,  with 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ZULESKI  19 

shining  eyes  and  a  proud  smile,  withdrew.  Count 
Florian  Zuleski  flung  out  his  arms. 

''Poland  is  not  dead!"  said  he,  in  a  thrilling  whis- 
per. "Poland  is  not  dead!" 

Of  course  Poland  was  not  dead:  Marya  Jadwiga 
knew  that  quite  well.  But  what  had  Wincenty  the 
gipsy  to  do  with  it  ? 

Other  visitors  than  Wincenty  came  and  went,  un- 
heralded and  unannounced,  out  of  the  night  and  no- 
where, and  into  it  again.  It  might  be  a  Jew,  a  Lett,  a 
Eussian,  a  Pole;  anything,  too,  from  a  priest  to  a 
tinker.  Thrice,  of  late,  a  yellow  man  had  come, — a 
peddler, — a  small  man  with  slanting  black  eyes  and 
purple-black  hair.  He  had  better  wares  and  better 
manners  than  others,  and  the  country  women 
welcomed  him  gladly.  To  him,  as  to  all  others,  Wen- 
ceslaus  showed  an  unmoved  face.  To  all  he  gave  food 
in  the  name  of  God,  and  a  rough,  clean  bed  if  the 
guest  were  staying  overnight;  but  he  never  had  any 
private  conversation  with  any  of  them.  He  seemed, 
rather,  to  avoid  them;  and  he  sedulously  kept  small 
Marya  Jadwiga  out  of  the  way. 

Like  all  solitary  children,  she  kept  her  thoughts 
very  much  to  herself,  and  she  had  been  trained  to  ask 
few  questions.  Nevertheless  she  was  beginning  to 
feel  a  vague  unease.  She  began  to  connect  together 
events  small  enough  in  themselves,  but  the  cumulative 
evidence  of  which  added  to  her  puzzlement. 

For  instance,  a  common,  ordinary,  plodding  ped- 
dler, a  Little  Russian  known  to  all  the  countryside, 


20  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

would  stop  in  the  courtyard.  From  him  the  count 
would  perhaps  buy  a  pair  of  shoestrings.  The  next 
morning  Marya  Jadwiga  would  learn  that  new  data 
must  be  added  to  a  map;  or  there  would  be  a  new 
name,  or  place,  or  fact  for  her  to  remember.  And 
once  when  the  gipsies  had  long  been  gone  from  their 
quarters  in  the  glen,  Wincenty  appeared  and  was 
closeted  with  her  father  for  an  hour.  He  was  gone 
before  daybreak. 

That  morning  the  count  was  more  thoughtful  than 
usual.  It  was  a  rainy  day,  and  the  huge  old  wreck 
of  a  house  was  full  of  grim  shadows,  of  ghostly  half- 
lights.  The  corners  in  the  big  library  were  in  a  dusk 
as  of  twilight.  Marya  Jadwiga  sat  near  a  window 
with  her  book,  studying  quietly.  Of  a  sudden  her 
father  called  her  by  name.  With  her  book  in  her 
hand,  the  child  rose  obediently. 

Count  Florian  went  to  the  window  that  overlooked 
the  courtyard.  It  was  empty,  the  rain  making  puddles 
on  the  broken  flagstones.  Then  he  went  to  the  door, 
and  looked  outside  to  assure  himself  that  the  halls, 
too,  were  empty.  Satisfied,  he  locked  the  door,  placed 
his  big  desk  chair  in  front  of  it,  and  mounted  the 
chair.  Now,  all  the  door  and  window  casings  in  the 
larger  rooms  of  that  house  were  remarkable  for  their 
quaint  and  elaborate  carving ;  and  though  much  of  it 
was  mutilated  and  hacked,  that  in  the  library  was 
almost  intact.  Above  the  doors,  cut  in  venerable 
black  oak,  appeared  the  Zuleski  arms,  and  the  top 
and  side  casings  were  fantastically  adorned  with  in- 
tricate designs  of  birds,  beasts,  and  flowers. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ZULESKI  21 

Standing  on  his  chair,  Count  Florian  reached  up  a 
long,  thin  arm  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  third  grif- 
fin from  the  top,  on  the  right-hand  side.  It  was  a 
gay  little  griffin,  with  spreading  wings,  curled  tail, 
and  a  forked  tongue  thrust  out  impudently.  The  man 
laid  a  finger-tip  in  its  open  mouth.  The  little  beast 
began  to  turn  around,  revealing  an  opening  large 
enough  to  slip  a  hand  into  sideways,  and  quite  large 
and  deep  enough  to  hold  a  goodly  number  of  papers. 

Count  Florian  glanced  down  at  little  Marya  Jad- 
wiga,  who  stood  looking  up,  with  round  eyes,  at  him 
and  his  performing  griffin.  He  touched  the  right 
wing  where  it  joined  the  shoulder.  As  soundlessly  as 
it  had  opened,  the  crevice  closed. 

"The  third  from  the  top,  on  the  right-hand  side. 
Press  twice  on  the  tongue.  When  you  wish  to  close 
it,  press  twice  on  the  right  wing,  where  it  joins  the 
shoulder,"  said  the  count.  He  added,  smiling:  "It 
is  very  clever.  So  far  it  has  been  very  safe.  No  out- 
sider has  ever  known.  You  will  remember  ? ' ' 

Marya  Jadwiga  knew  she  could  never  forget. 

"An  old  house  like  this,"  said  the  count,  still  smil- 
ing, "like  an  old  man  who  has  lived  long  and  seen 
much,  has  many  secrets.  Here  is  one  which  has  saved 
lives  in  its  time." 

He  strolled  over  to  the  boarded-up  fireplace,  before 
which  stood  the  large  iron  stove.  Around  the  mantel 
the  same  scrollwork  of  birds  and  beasts  frisked. 

"Fifth  griffin  on  the  right,"  said  the  count. 
"Now  let  me  see  how  you  remember." 

Marya  Jadwiga  put  her  small  finger  into  the  little 


22  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

griffin's  wooden  mouth  and  pressed  his  tongue.  One 
wide,  thick  panel  next  to  the  fireplace  moved,  and 
slowly  turned  as  upon  pivots.  There  was,  so  to  say, 
an  open  door.  Beyond  this  lay  utter  blackness,  and 
from  it  came  a  cold,  damp  wind. 

"There  are  several  such  exits  and  entrances,"  said 
the  count,  casually.  She  knew  then  how  "Wincenty 
the  gipsy  had  made  his  exit  on  that  afternoon  when 
Czadowska  appeared  so  suddenly.  And  it  seemed  to 
her  now  that  the  little  birds  and  griffins,  even  the 
carved  flowers,  which  she  had  once  liked  to  play  with 
and  laugh  at,  wore  a  sly  and  secretive  look.  She 
vaguely  sensed  the  approach  of  tragedy.  Ah!  what 
shadow,  darker  than  decay  and  ruin,  brooded  as  with 
wings  over  this  old,  old  house? 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  MOON'S   GODCHILD 

NOTWITHSTANDING  his  iron  frame   and 
his  indomitable  spirit,  "Wenceslaus  was  but 
human,  and  subject  to  those  ills  that  flesh 
is  heir  to.     In  the  late  winter,   rheumatism  seized 
upon  and  racked  him.     To  have  to  lie  idle  when  there 
was  so  much  to  be  done,  and  none  but  him  to  do  it, 
added  to  his  sufferings. 

The  old  man  hugged  to  his  breast  a  terror  which  he 
concealed  from  Marya  Jadwiga.  For  some  time  he 
had  known  that  the  Last  Conqueror  was  drawing 
nearer  Count  Florian.  The  count  would  be  sitting  at 
his  desk,  absorbed  in  his  endless  calculations ;  or,  may- 
be, walking  up  and  down,  his  head  bent,  pondering; 
and  of  a  sudden  his  face  would  contract,  and  his  eyes 
express  an  intense  agony.  Icy  sweat  trickled  down 
his  cheeks,  and  around  his  pinched  lips  appeared  blue 
marks.  The  first  time  Wenceslaus  had  seen  this  he 
had  been  just  in  time  to  save  the  master  from  a  heavy 
fall.  Yet  Count  Florian  had  savagely  refused  to  con- 
sult a  physician.  He  knew  his  own  symptoms,  he  said. 
Also,  he  peremptorily  forbade  Wenceslaus  to  mention 
the  matter  to  Marya  Jadwiga — or  to  him.  Lying 
there,  Wenceslaus  remembered  this,  and  it  tormented 
him  like  a  hair  shirt  on  a  scourged  back. 

23 


24  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

To  make  things  worse,  the  deaf-and-dumb  woman  in 
the  kitchen  fell  and  broke  her  hip  so  badly  that  she 
was  about  to  die.  Wenceslaus  was  sorry  for  her,  but 
sorrier  for  his  own  household.  He  gnawed  his 
knuckles  and  all  but  fretted  himself  into  his  grave 
from  irritation  at  the  brute  stupidity  of  circumstance. 
After  dubious  reflection  he  said  to  Marya  Jadwiga, 
grumpily : 

"I  shall  soon  be  better.  But  our  dumb  woman  is 
going  to  die.  As  we  can 't  have  her  with  us  any  more, 
we  shall  have  to  look  elsewhere  for  help. ' ' 

"Yes.     To  whom  shall  I  send?"  she  wondered. 

He  fell  again  to  biting  his  hands. 

"If  Franciszka  hadn't  been  such  a  fool  as  to  go 
away  to  America,  we  could  send  for  her.  She  is 
almost  in  our  family.  But  she  thought  she  would  do 
better  in  America.  So  we  can't  have  Franciszka,  just 
when  we  need  her.  I  '11  have  to  think." 

Franciszka  had  really  attained  her  heart's  desire. 
She  had  gone  to  America,  that  new  country  where 
men  and  money  were  more  plentiful.  The  village 
priest,  a  simple,  pious  soul,  had  been  induced  to  write 
to  some  relatives  of  his  who  had  emigrated,  several 
years  before,  to  Pennsylvania,  and  to  them  Franciszka 
had  gone.  The  priest  commended  her  to  God,  and 
gave  her  some  good  advice  and  a  few  rubles.  She 
listened  with  a  demure  and  downcast  face.  But  the 
rubles  were  welcome,  and  she  received  them  willingly, 
shrewdly  suspecting  that  the  priest's  thin,  yellow  wife 
knew  nothing  of  this  donation.  She  kissed  the  good 
man's  not  too  cleanly  paw,  with  an  air  that  drew 


THE  MOON'S  GODCHILD  25 

from  that  innocent  a  smile,  a  sigh,  and  eighty  copecks, 
the  last  of  his  secret  hoard.  All  was  grist  that  came 
to  Franciszka's  mill;  but  the  priest  did  not  see  that. 

Men  are  always  charitable  in  their  judgment  of 
handsome  young  women.  Wenceslaus  was  charitable, 
like  unto  the  priest.  Both  saw  in  Franciszka's  in- 
satiate selfishness  only  the  natural  craving  of  the 
young  and  beautiful,  the  weakness  of  the  pretty  she- 
thing  toward  which  one  is  tenderly  tolerant.  Wences- 
laus mourned,  now,  that  the  girl  was  not  at  hand  to 
be  taken  into  the  house  in  his  need. 

Instead  there  was  sent  him  by  the  priest,  to  whom 
he  had  applied,  a  big,  fair  woman,  half  Lett,  half  Rus- 
sian. "Wenceslaus  received  her  in  a  manner  which 
made  her  secretly  hate  him.  She  saw  in  him  the  slav- 
ish adherent  of  two  impoverished  aristocrats;  this 
made  him  an  enemy  to  herself.  Josika,  who  could 
read  and  write,  and  had  spent  her  life  with  a  revo- 
lutionary brother,  considered  herself  of  the  intelli- 
gentsia ! 

This  brother  was,  like  all  Russians  who  think,  at 
once  idealist  and  realist :  one  must  always  reach  the 
ideal  through  the  real,  the  beyond  through  the  here. 
He  saw  himself  and  everybody  else  entangled  in  the 
web  of  circumstance,  and  knew  that  from  the  begin- 
ning all  have  been  thus  entangled ;  but  he  also  saw  that 
men  may  change  circumstances  and  thus  break  the 
web.  History  showed  him  that  small  minority  which 
has  always  toiled  for  liberty,  for  enlightenment;  also 
it  showed  him  that  these  have  generally  ended  their 
lives  on  scaffolds,  on  racks,  in  dungeons,  in  exile ;  and 


26  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

that  men  are  grateful  to  their  saviors  only  after  hav- 
ing destroyed  them.  He  knew,  yet  he  hoped.  He 
did  not  like  or  trust  individual  men;  he  loathed 
women,  of  whom  he  spoke  coarsely  and  with  hate; 
yet  he  risked  exile  and  the  noose,  and  he  burned 
with  a  white-hot  revolutionary  flame.  He  prayed 
that  prayer  Turgenieff  had  said  to  be  the  one  true 
prayer:  "0  God,  do  not  let  two  and  two  make  four!" 

.  .  .  And  God  will  not  let  it  make  four.  Yes! 
There  is  a  light  in  the  sky — somewhere.  After  a 
while — when  the  system  of  rotten  government  has 
been  pulled  up  by  the  roots  and  burned  in  the  undying 
fires — men  will  be  happy,  have  enough  to  eat,  own  the 
land,  play,  think.  "Know  ye  not  ye  are  godsf" 
Toward  this  new  heaven,  this  new  earth,  one  must 
strain,  bend  all  one's  energies.  For  this  idea,  then, 
Sergei  labored  and  plotted,  going  up  and  down  the 
Bussias,  among  factories  and  farms,  on  docks,  wher- 
ever men  labored;  talking,  distributing  literature, 
spreading  the  fire.  He,  too,  was  one  of  Florian 
Zuleski's  night  visitors.  But  Josika  did  not  know 
that. 

For  years  he  had  believed  he  did  not  believe  in  God. 
But  God  is  necessary  to  Russians.  Sergei  went  back 
to  God  via  Tolstoy,  whom  at  first  he  had  hated. 
Then,  devouring  the  Scriptures,  he  was  taught  by 
Revelations  that  the  Second  Coming  was  about  due. 
Where  should  the  Redeemer  appear  save  in  Holy 
Russia,  where  he  was  most  needed?  Sergei  had  also 
learned  that  of  the  earth's  seething  millions  only  one 
hundred  and  forty-four  thousand  are  to  be  saved.  He 


THE  MOON'S  GODCHILD  27 

bought  a  small  atlas  of  the  world,  studied  the  va- 
rious countries,  and  used  to  sit  up  all  night  propor- 
tioning among  them  the  one  hundred  and  forty-four 
thousand  saved.  In  figuring  Russia 's  share,  he  ended 
by  being  uncertain  of  any  of  his  countrymen  except 
Count  Florian  Zuleski,  who  was  not  a  Russian  but  a 
Pole,  and  himself,  who  was  only  half  Russian.  Filled 
with  a  gloomy  and  ferocious  satisfaction,  he  looked 
down  upon  others  with  the  traditional  attitude  of  the 
saved  toward  the  damned.  When  he  got  drunk,  which 
happened  at  times,  he  beat  his  sister  Josika,  bawling 
at  her  hoarsely : 

"All  aristocrats,  all  the  nobility,  the  children  of 
this  world,  are  utterly  damned;  do  you  hear?  The 
rich  in  this  life  burn  in  hell  forever.  In  order  to  save 
them  at  all,  we  must  destroy  them;  we  must  root  up 
the  system  which  produces  unfortunates  doomed  to 
hell  fire!  When  there  are  no  more  aristocrats,  no 
more  rich,  when  all  are  equal,  Christ  will  reign,  the 
devil  will  be  chained,  God  will  shut  up  hell,  all  will 
be  angels!  Do  you  understand  that,  animal?"  And 
he  banged  her  with  his  fists. 

The  woman  did  not  share  his  views ;  she  thought  it 
stupid  to  be  interested  in  events  scheduled  to  occur 
long  after  she  had  ceased  to  be  alive.  But  she  shared 
his  hatred  of  people  who  possessed  more  than  she  had. 
She  did  not  care  whether  or  not  they  were  punished 
in  the  next  world.  She  was  perfectly  willing  to  take 
away  from  them  what  they  had  in  this. 

She  had  but  lately  come  to  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try, accompanying  her  brother  on  one  of  his  mysteri- 


28  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

ous  excursions.  Nobody  knew  much  about  her,  but 
the  peasants  were  sorry  for  her  because  she  was  so 
alone,  and  Sergei  was  a  sullen  man.  She  had  small, 
clear-blue  eyes,  high  cheek  bones  like  a  Tartar's,  and 
a  smooth,  fresh-colored  face.  Her  teeth  were  sharp 
and  white,  and  she  showed  them  in  a  perpetual  half- 
smile.  She  was  willing  to  appear  somewhat  stupid. 
Wenceslaus,  who  did  not  like  her  at  all,  watched  her 
with  the  look  of  one  who  expects  to  have  to  find  fault. 
But  she  was  willing  to  work,  she  was  strong  as  an 
ox,  she  was  not  talkative ;  and  he  admitted  to  himself 
that  he  could  not  have  done  better,  so  far  as  that  went. 

The  bareness  of  that  big  ruined  house  made  Josika 
marvel.  She  was  inured  to  hardships ;  but  these  were 
gentlefolk.  The  count  and  his  daughter  ate  black 
bread  and  pickled  cucumbers  and  boiled  eggs,  and 
drank  kvass,  like  peasants.  There  were  no  luxuries, 
except  an  occasional  fowl  when  there  were  visitors  to 
be  fed.  She  and  her  brother  fared  better  than  this! 

She  asked  herself  many  questions,  puzzling  this 
thing  out.  Surely  that  old  man,  who  made  books, 
who  knew  all  the  stars  by  their  name,  made  enough 
money  at  least  to  save  himself  and  his  daughter  from 
such  privation!  Then  she  recalled  the  gossip  that 
had  buzzed  about  among  the  peasants  when  it  was 
known  she  was  to  come  here — she  had  heard  it  at  the 
priest's  house — that  this  old  gentleman  was  a  ma- 
gician, a  Znachar,  that  he  was,  too,  a  miser,  who  made 
and  hoarded  gold.  Surely,  money,  maybe  a  great 
deal  of  money,  must  come  to  that  house.  And  the 
count  never  spent  any  of  it,  except  the  most  incon- 


THE  MOON'S  GODCHILD  29 

siderable  sums  for  their  poor  needs.  If  he  received 
money  and  never  spent  it,  it  remained  in  the  house. 
The  old  magician  hid  it. 

Thinking  this  out,  Josika's  cupidity  leaped  into 
flame.  Suppose  that  one  watched  closely,  and  could 
come  upon  even  so  much  as  one  bag  of  the  secret 
hoard!  Without  being  in  the  least  like  Franciszka 
— Josika  was  virtuous,  as  virtue  is  accredited  to 
women — she  yet  wished  to  follow  Franeiszka  to  Amer- 
ica, where  one  received  immense  wages,  wore  clothes 
like  a  noblewoman's,  also  a  hat,  a  real  hat,  and  ate 
meat  and  white  bread  every  day.  But  to  elude  Sergei 
and  get  to  America  required  money.  The  woman  was 
no  fool.  She  could  not  ask  'Sergei  for  so  much  as  a 
copeck;  for,  like  the  fanatic  he  was,  he  would  have 
turned  her  inside  out  for  the  Cause.  Josika  saw  a 
chance  to  get  the  needed  money  here,  in  the  count's 
old  house ;  she  determined  to  keep  both  her  eyes  and 
her  ears  open,  and  to  seize  her  chance  when  it  came. 

She  had  her  full  share  of  peasant  suspicion.  Even 
if  she  failed  to  come  by  some  of  the  gold  she  believed 
the  count  acquired  and  hid,  she  thought  she  might  be 
able  to  discover  other  things.  She  knew  those  who 
were  always  willing  to  pay  well  for  certain  sorts  of 
information.  She  was  not  deaf  and  dumb  like  her 
predecessor,  and  even  in  the  first  days  of  her  serv- 
ice here  she  had  found  out  that  this  was  a  strange  old 
house,  a  house  full  of  odd  noises  and  shadows  and 
whispers  and  footsteps;  a  house  in  which  unaccount- 
able things  happened. 

For  the  count  she  felt  awe  as  well  as  curiosity.     For 


30  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

his  daughter  her  feelings  were  a  mixture  of  astonish- 
ment, envy,  and  an  irritated  sense  of  inferiority.  The 
girl  was  nai've  and  joyous,  but  possessed  an  innate 
dignity  which  repelled  familiarity  and  compelled  re- 
spect. The  mind  so  carefully  and  curiously  culti- 
vated, the  daily  contact  with  such  a  man  as  Florian 
Zuleski,  showed  itself  in  the  open  brow,  the  speaking 
eye,  the  exquisite  sensibility,  and  in  the  gentle  re- 
serve which  shaded  a  nature  as  free  and  tameless  as 
the  sea's  self. 

This,  Josika  felt  without  understanding.  Marya 
Jadwiga's  delicate  appeal  found  no  response  in  her, 
who  had  the  contempt  of  all  base  natures  for  poverty. 
The  young  girl's  serene  and  innocent  joyousness  an- 
gered her.  What  right  had  she  to  be  happy  in  that 
horrible  wreck  of  a  house,  which  Josika  found  so 
frightfully  dull  ?  There  was  nobody  to  see,  nobody  to 
gossip  with.  Well!  It  was  pleasant  to  think  that 
the  girl  would  wither  and  die  here  in  poverty  and 
obscurity, — pleasant  and  just, — while  she,  Josika, 
would  escape  to  the  larger  life  of  the  New  World,  and 
live  there  in  happiness  and  riches. 

On  a  fine  morning — Josika  being  busy  with  the 
making  of  black  bread,  Wenceslaus  asleep  after  a  bad 
night,  and  the  count,  as  usual,  immured  in  his  study 
— Marya  Jadwiga  was  out  of  doors  feeding  her  fowls, 
tfhich  squawked  and  cackled  and  clucked  and  screamed 
about  her  feet,  the  gray  geese  stretching  out  their 
long  necks,  the  ducks  shaking  their  heads  and  tails 
and  watching  her  with  their  intelligent  little  eyes. 


THE  MOON'S  GODCHILD  31 

Her  cat  Vasily  sat  on  the  stone  wall,  washing  his 
face.  Whenever  she  spoke,  he  would  pause,  with  an 
uplifted  red  paw,  and  blink  his  topaz  eyes. 

Marya  Jadwiga  wore  a  threadbare  blue  dress,  and 
on  her  slim  feet  were  shoes  too  large  for  them.  The 
thick  braids  of  her  black  hair  were  hidden  under  the 
white  kerchief  shielding  her  face,  her  sleeves  were 
rolled  to  her  elbows,  and  she  carried  in  her  faded  red 
apron  the  grain  she  was  flinging  to  her  noisy,  scram- 
bling flock.  Under  the  coarse  kerchief  sparkled  the 
April  eyes  of  youth;  the  red  lips  curved  in  lovely 
laughter,  and  the  faded  blue  frock  could  not  conceal 
the  virginal  grace  of  her  slim  and  shapely  body.  Be- 
hind her  the  great  old  house  stretched  like  a  half- 
embracing  arm,  steeped  in  sunlight.  One  saw  blue 
haze  in  the  distance,  and  a  black  line  of  forest,  and  far 
to  the  left  was  the  outline  of  the  village,  beyond  green 
fields  of  rye.  The  good  odor  of  baking  bread  came 
from  the  kitchen.  Overhead,  the  clouds  were  like 
white  curds  piled  in  a  deep  blue  bowl.  Like  an  ex- 
quisitely tuned  instrument  Marya  Jadwiga  responded 
to  the  beauty  of  the  day.  Under  her  breath  she 
hummed  an  old,  old  air.  There  she  stood  in  the  full 
bright  sunlight,  steeped  in  it,  outlined  by  it,  a  part 
of  it.  And  the  big  blond  baron  who  rode  into  the 
courtyard  on  his  big  bay  horse  drew  rein,  and  sat 
there  looking  down  at  her. 

She  had  seen  Teuton  overlords  before ;  most  of  the 
larger  proprietors  were  Germans — hard,  stout,  pink 
persons  whose  very  efficiency  and  force  made  them  un- 
lovely and  unlovable.  Lett  and  Pole  knew  over  well 


32  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

the  Kulturtrager,  the  Bearer  of  Civilization!  But 
Marya  Jadwiga  had  never  before  seen  one  like  this. 
There  was  in  his  air,  in  his  whole  bearing,  that  calm, 
unhurried  ease  and  sureness  which  sits  so  superbly 
upon  those  who  for  generations  have  had  their  wishes 
deferred  to  and  their  commands  obeyed.  And  he  wore 
as  a  garment  a  magnificent  air  of  dazzling  romance, 
which  belongs  only  to  a  really  blond  man  in  the  flower 
of  his  age,  when  the  dew  of  his  youth  is  upon  him. 

Little  Marya  Jadwiga  looked  up  at  this  superman, 
and  he  looked  down  at  her,  his  large  blue  eyes  spark- 
ling in  his  ruddy  face,  the  sun  glittering  upon  his 
gold  hair  and  beard.  The  fairest  and  lordliest  of  all 
the  blond  and  pagan  gods  of  the  North  was  never  a 
whit  fairer  nor  lordlier  than  Karl  Otto  Johann  von 
Rittenheim. 

Marya  Jadwiga  bowed  with  a  quaint  and  naive  re- 
spect, her  green  eyes  widening  with  innocent  admira- 
tion. He  was  the  first  beautiful  and  young  male 
creature  she  had  ever  seen.  He  saw  the  impression 
he  had  made,  and  the  little  thing's  simplicity  pleased 
him.  He  leaned  forward. 

"King's  daughter,"  said  the  blond  baron,  "has  the 
wicked  stepmother  set  you  to  minding  the  geese,  and 
shall  I  cut  off  her  head  for  you?  You  have  only  to 
command!  Or  you  are,  perhaps,  the  Fairy  of  the 
Hills,  amusing  your  small  ladyship  playing  at  being 
a  mortal?" 

"I  have  no  stepmother.  These  are  my  own  geese, 
and  I  feed  them  because  one  must,  and  also  because 
I  love  them.  And  I  am  not  the  Fairy  of  the  Hills." 


THE  MOON'S  GODCHILD  33 

She  spoke  regretfully,  as  he  noted  with  amusement. 
She  had  a  sweet,  sedate  voice,  with  a  deep-throated 
and  low  note  in  it,  and  the  purity  of  her  accent 
struck  him.  He  had  a  fastidious  ear. 

"No?  You  are,  then,  a  mortal?  Consider  me,  an- 
other mortal !  I  have  been  riding  across  this  accursed 
country  since  daybreak:  nothing  to  eat,  nothing  to 
drink,  nothing  to  see!  Take  pity  upon  me,  Mistress 
Mind-the-Geese !  I  am  dog-tired,  the  Baron  von 
Kosen  's  house  is  ten  terrible  miles  away ;  my  horse  is 
dog-tired,  too.  May  one  secure  here  a  meal  and  a 
halting-place  in  the  wilderness?" 

The  young  girl  made  another  quaint  courtesy,  ex- 
pressive of  acquiescence.  To  find  proper  food  for 
such  a  guest  was  no  easy  matter,  with  Wenceslaus  laid 
up.  But  she  knew  she  must  rise  to  the  occasion,  bear 
the  full  brunt  of  the  hospitality  fallen  upon  her  shoul- 
ders. 

Von  Eittenheim,  leading  his  horse,  walked  beside 
her  across  the  wide  courtyard.  He  caught  the  straight 
glance  of  shimmering  gray-green  eyes  under  the  dis- 
guising head-kerchief,  noted  the  slim,  straight  body  in 
the  country  clothes,  and  wondered  somewhat.  Coun- 
try girls  have  sturdier  frames,  broader  shoulders  and 
hips,  heavier  and  rosier  faces — and,  most  assuredly, 
thicker  ankles.  This  one's  ankles  were  of  superfine 
slinmess.  This  one  had  the  grace  of  a  child,  the  eyes 
of  a  witch.  She  was  unusual,  and  the  unusual  al- 
ways attracted  him.  He  had  the  trained  Teutonic 
eyes,  and  he  used  them. 

"I  am  not  mistaken — Count  Florian  Zuleski  lives 


34  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

here,  does  he  not?  And  alone?  I  have  not  been 
misdirected?" 

"Wenceslaus  and  I  live  here  with  him." 

"Wenceslaus?     That  will  be  the  overseer,  nu?" 

She  bowed,  but  made  no  attempt  to  define  Wences- 
laus's  status. 

"You,  with  two  old  men!  In  this  rat-hole !  Him- 
mel!  what  a  place  for  a  girl  like  you!" 

"  It  is  a  very  good  place. ' '  She  looked  at  him  with 
a  genuine  surprise  that  he  should  question  it.  "It  is 
home,"  she  added,  with  a  hint  of  reproof. 

This  faint  reproof,  to  him  of  all  men,  from  such  a 
source  for  such  a  cause,  touched  a  certain  irony  innate 
in  him.  He  showed  his  fine  teeth  in  a  smile.  He  said 
meditatively : 

"As  you  see,  my  horse  shows  symptoms  of  going 
lame,  and  must  rest.  I  shall  probably  have  to  ask 
hospitality  for  a  day  or  two.  That  would  not  in- 
convenience you?" 

"Our  house  is  the  gentleman's  while  he  chooses  to 
remain  with  us, ' '  said  Marya  Jadwiga,  with  grave  po- 
liteness, and  without  surprise.  But  inwardly  she 
quaked.  There  must  be  slaughter  among  her  fowls,  a 
thing  she  hated;  thank  Heaven,  the  larder  contained 
half  a  cheese,  and  some  white  bread!  A  frown  of 
housewifely  care  puckered  her  forehead,  and  she 
caught  her  under  lip  in  her  teeth,  pondering.  Her 
eyes  seemed  full  of  brooding  mystery ;  she  was  wonder- 
ing how  she  should  feed  him.  But  she  was  quite  ador- 
able. And  he  felt  tired.  He  had  been  so  unutterably 
bored. 


THE  MOON'S  GODCHILD  35 

"The  count,  one  hears,  is  immersed  in  studying 
stars,  when  he  is  not  engaged  in  digging  Lithuanian 
roots.  What,  in  Heaven 's  name,  does  he  find  to  amuse 
him,  how  does  he  kill  time  here,  when  he  is  busy 
with  neither  stars  nor  root  words;  may  one  ask?" 
the  baron  wondered,  almost  too  impersonally. 

"He  sleeps,"  said  the  young  girl,  succinctly. 

"Star-gazing  and  root-digging  must  be  tremen- 
dously absorbing  when  such  a  man  as  Zuleski  buries 
himself  alive  in  this  hole,  in  order  to  pursue  them 
uninterruptedly,"  mused  the  baron  to  himself.  But 
aloud  he  said,  with  sudden  punctiliousness : 

"Explain  to  the  count  that  Baron  von  Rittenheim 
desires  to  express  in  person  his  consideration  and 
respect. ' ' 

"I  shall  be  pleased  to  announce  to  Count  Zuleski 
that  he  is  so  fortunate  as  to  have  for  his  guest  the  noble 
Baron  von  Rittenheim."  The  noble  baron  stared. 
A  girl  with  a  peasant 's  kerchief  on  her  head,  a  goose- 
girl,  speaking  with  such  demure  politeness!  Ach! 

'She  ushered  him  into  a  huge  central  hall,  bowed, 
and  left  him.  An  enormous  fireplace  above  which  was 
sculptured  the  Zuleski  arms,  a  pair  of  heavy  oak 
settles,  a  rusty  suit  of  medieval  armor  of  fine  lines, 
a  few  old  lances,  a  huge  armoire,  heavily  carved,  in- 
describably battered  and  with  some  of  the  forged  iron 
clamps  wrenched  off,  remained  to  show  how  noble 
this  stripped  and  desolate  place  must  once  have  been. 

The  luxury-loving  blond  sybarite,  used  to  palatial 
rooms,  flung  himself  upon  a  hard  settle  and  stared 
about  him  with  wonder.  He  could,  when  he  had  to, 


36  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

fare  like  a  Spartan;  but  he  disliked  it  on  principle. 
And  this  was  the  abode  of  Florian  Zuleski! 

"Herr  Gott!"  he  grumbled.  "What  a  devil's  hole 
to  send  a  man  into,  possibly  to  find  nothing  after  all ! 
But  it  is  true  they  're  all  ingrates  and  devils,  these 
Letts  and  Poles.  Perhaps  it  really  might  be  just  as 
well  to  have  an  eye  on  this  stargazer!  Unless  he  is 
stark  mad,  why  should  Zuleski  choose  to  remain  in  this 
abomination  of  desolation?" 

While  he  sat  there  twisting  his  mustache,  a  door 
cautiously  opened,  and  a  fresh-colored  face,  with  small 
blue  eyes  and  a  fixed  smile,  showed  itself.  The  woman 
Josika  laid  a  finger  to  her  lips,  and  regarded  him  ques- 
tioningly.  He  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"So?"  said  he,  softly. 

She  advanced  noiselessly. 

"Nothing  much,  Highborn,"  said  she,  in  a  whisper, 
"except  that  there  have  been  secret  meetings  at  the 
priest 's  house.  His  wife  watches  for  them.  They  are 
haters  of  barons,  in  the  priest's  house.  He  is  a  Slavo- 
phile. More  I  do  not  know — yet.  But  I  give  you  the 
names  of  those  that  meet  there.  Also  two  mani- 
festos." 

"And— here?" 

She  pondered  a  moment. 

"That  old  man  upstairs  is  a  devil,  Highborn.  He 
never  sleeps.  He  is  awake — always.  And — I  have 
seen  shadows  come  and  go,  in  the  night." 

"Ah!  You  have  seen  shadows  come  and  go,  in  the 
night.  Whose  shadows?  What  shadows?  Many 
shadows  come  and  go — in  the  night." 


THE  MOON'S  GODCHILD  37 

"I  could  find  out  nothing.    But  I  will  watch." 

"  It  may  be  worth  while.  In  the  meantime — "  In 
return  for  what  she  had  given  him  she  received  some 
coins.  Not  too  many. 

"The  people  in  this  house?" 

"There  is  Wenceslaus.  He  is  good,  but  a  fool." 
Josika  bit  upon  the  word  "fool."  "And  the  count, 
who  is  shut  up  all  day  in  his  own  rooms.  That  library 
of  his  is  one  pig 's  litter  of  papers.  He  will  not  allow 
that  you  should  touch  with  the  tip  of  your  finger 
so  much  as  one  paper !  All  night  he  is  in  that  little 
tower.  Why  does  he  live  like  this,  like  a  bad  man,  a 
Znachar,  if  he  is  good?" 

"Nitchevo!"  said  the  baron,  shortly.  He  would 
find  out  what  he  could  find  out  from  whatsoever 
source  it  might  be,  but  it  irked  him  to  discuss  a  man 
of  his  own  class  with  a  peasant.  "The  other  serv- 
ants?" 

' '  There  are  no  other  servants. ' ' 

"That  girl  who  feeds  the  poultry?  What  of 
her?" 

"I  saw  you  ride  up,  and  I  saw  you  speaking  with 
her."  Under  her  lowered  lids  her  eyes  sparkled,  and 
she  smiled  maliciously.  "But — that  is  not  a  servant 
in  this  house,  Highborn."  For  the  life  of  her  she 
could  not  refrain  from  asking,  "Is  it  possible  you 
thought  her  a  servant  ? ' ' 

"No?"  He  looked  blank.  "Who  is  she,  then? 
She  is  such  a  child —  It  is  not  possible  that  this  old 
man — "  Instinctively  he  recoiled. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no!"  Josika  appeared  to  be  horrified. 


38 

But  she  was  secretly  delighted.  She  had  not  dared 
hope  for  anything  so  good  as  this! 

""Well,  in  the  devil's  name,  who  and  what  is  she, 
then  ? ' '  asked  he,  angrily. 

"She  is  the  Countess  Marya  Jadwiga  Zuleska, 
Count  Florian's  daughter,"  said  Josika,  ever  so 
gently  and  respectfully.  For  one  of  these  aristocrats 
to  make  such  a  mistake  about  another !  She  lowered 
her  eyes  to  hide  the  gleam  in  them.  She  would  take 
this  German's  money,  just  as  she  would  take  money 
from  a  Russian,  from  anybody  who  would  pay  for  such 
information  as  she  had  to  sell.  But  that  did  not 
make  her  like  him  any  better.  She  would  have  sold 
the  baron  himself  to  the  hangman  for  a  handful  of 
silver.  The  breed  of  Judas  has  daughters  as  well  as 
sons. 

The  baron  whistled  to  himself,  softly. 

"Ankles,"  said  he,  oracularly,  after  a  pause,  "are 
really  an  almost  infallible  test."  He  added  gravely, 
' '  It  pleased  her  little  ladyship  to  disguise  herself  this 
morning. ' ' 

"No,  Baron.  She  has  never  worn  any  other 
sort  of  clothes.  She  has  none  to  wear, ' '  said  Josika, 
with  deadly  respect. 

"His  daughter!"  muttered  the  baron.  "I  remem- 
ber now  there  was  mention  of  a  daughter.  But  I  took 
it  for  granted  she  was  away  at  school.  Surely  he  can 
afford  that!  He  must  make  some  money." 

"There  is  never,  never  any  money  here," 
Josika  put  in  hastily.  She  felt  he  was  poach- 


THE  MOON'S  GODCHILD  39 

ing  on  her  particular  preserves  now,  and  she  resented 
it. 

"Nitchevo!"  said  he,  and  motioned  her  to  retire. 

Wenceslaus  received  with  groans  bordering  on 
curses  the  news  that  they  had  the  baron  as  a  guest. 
But  the  count  took  it  so  casually  that  one  might  have 
supposed  he  expected  this  fine  gentleman  to  put  in  an 
appearance.  For  a  moment  his  pinched  face  bright- 
ened, his  veiled  eyes  gleamed. 

"Put  him  in  the  west  chamber;  give  him  the  best 
we  can  muster,"  said  the  count,  hospitably.  And  he 
added,  rubbing  his  long  yellow  hands:  "To-day  we 
bear  with  them,  while  they  devour  us.  To-morrow — 
they  devour  each  other." 

Marya  Jadwiga  said  nothing.  She  had  heard  that 
cannibalistic  prophecy  before.  He  asked,  looking  at 
her  shrewdly : 

"What  is  he  like,  this  overlord?" 

"  He  is  beautiful.  Very,  very  beautiful.  But  I  am 
afraid  he  will  eat  a  great  deal.  However,  I  think 
I  can  manage  to  feed  him." 

' '  This  baron  is  our  guest,  and  you  are  my  daughter. 
You  are  a  bit  young  to  do  the  honors  of  our  house — " 
the  count  smiled  at  that — "but  you  will  do  your 
best.  As  a  mark  of  respect  to  the  baron  you  will 
speak  German.  Not  too  well,  remember,  not  too  well, 
but  well  enough  to  enable  him  to  help  you  to  speak  it 
better — later.  You  comprehend?" 

She  did  not  comprehend  at  all. 


40  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

''But  you  said  I  spoke  German  perfectly!"  she  pro- 
tested. 

"What  is  the  first  thing  I  taught  you?"  he  asked 
sternly. 

"To  obey,  without  questioning." 

"For  Poland,"  said  the  fanatic.  "Very  well.  To- 
day you  will  take  your  place  as  the  mistress  of  this 
house,  as  my  daughter,  the  Countess  Marya  Jadwiga 
Zuleska.  Now  you  may  go. ' ' 

She  left  him,  to  attend  to  her  household  duties, 
while  the  count,  with  his  exquisite  politeness,  wel- 
comed his  guest  and  conducted  him  to  that  library 
workroom  of  which  Josika  had  complained  that  it 
was  all  one  pig's  litter  of  paper.  He  had  been  very 
busy  with  certain  calculations,  and  his  desk,  and  the 
floor  around  it,  overflowed.  The  guest  wondered  if 
there  were  anything  worth  sifting  in  this  vast  mass, 
and  reflected  that  it  would  take  a  corps  of  trained 
clerks  to  go  through  it. 

Everything  about  this  house  astonished  the  baron. 
Philologists,  astronomers,  writers  of  textbooks,  even 
those  of  international  renown,  are  not  necessarily 
wealthy  men.  But  neither  are  they  poverty-stricken. 
They  do  not  live  in  obscure  seclusion,  nor  are  their 
daughters  dressed  like  hen-wives.  Zuleski  must  re- 
ceive fair  royalties  on  his  textbooks,  and  one  might 
suppose  that  his  occasional  essays  and  articles  in  lead- 
ing scientific  publications  paid  him  very  well.  He  re- 
ceived money.  What,  then,  did  he  do  with  it?  He 
did  not  apply  it  to  his  household !  Was  there  some- 
thing going  on  under  the  surface?  Something  had 


THE  MOON'S  GODCHILD  41 

induced  headquarters  to  send  such  a  man  as  himself, 
von  Kittenheim,  to  this  out-of-the-way  hole  to  get  in 
touch  with  Zuleski  and  report  the  result.  Yet  what 
if  the  whole  thing  should  prove  a  will-o'-the-wisp? 

At  the  midday  meal,  which  was  much  better  than  he 
had  expected,  he  again  met  Marya  Jadwiga,  grave  and 
sweet,  and  very  desirable,  for  all  her  coarse,  plain 
frock.  The  meal  was  made  memorable  to  him  by  the 
young  girl's  beauty  and  the  old  man's  wisdom,  a  wis- 
dom which  made  the  clever  German  marvel  again 
that  such  a  man  should  live  in  such  a  place  and  man- 
ner. To  add  to  his  pleasure  the  girl  presently  spoke, 
in  timid  German.  The  baron  missed  the  count's 
intense  watchfulness ;  but  he  was  charmed  to  assist  her 
faltering  speech,  and  his  heart  warmed  to  her. 

She  saw  that  her  father  was  pleased  with  her  be- 
cause the  baron  was  pleased  with  her.  He  wished, 
then,  that  this  passing  stranger  should  approve  of  her  ? 
Why?  That  "Why?"  was,  of  late,  always  looming 
before  her.  Her  natural  and  innate  truthfulness  re- 
coiled at  the  bare  shadow  of  deceit.  She  had  not 
been  acting  when  she  faltered  in  her  German:  she 
had  been,  instead,  troubled  and  confused.  What  part 
did  her  father  wish  her  to  play?  What  plan  was 
mapped  out  in  advance  for  her?  Why,  why, 
why? 

She  wished  with  all  her  heart  that  this  big,  beauti- 
ful young  man  who  was  looking  at  her  pleasedly  with 
his  large  blue  eyes,  had  not  come.  Why  should  he 
come,  and  why  should  he  wish  to  stay  ?  Why  had  he 
said  his  horse  was  about  to  go  lame  ?  There  was  noth- 


42  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

ing  at  all  the  matter  with  his  horse.  He  must  know 
she  knew  that.  His  horse  was  more  than  able  to  carry 
him  a  hundred  miles  without  going  lame,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  ten  that  lay  between  her  home  and  the  von 
Kosen  estate,  where  he  was,  he  said,  expected.  She 
wished  he  were  there  now.  That  was  where  he  be- 
longed, not  here  in  this  bare  old  house,  talking  with 
her  father  upstairs  in  the  library,  and  bringing  sad 
perplexity  to  herself. 

That  night  the  outside  world  was  like  silver,  under 
the  white,  enchanted  moon  of  spring.  It  was  a  night 
of  white  magic,  of  glamourie,  a  night  for  fairies  to 
dance  in.  It  called  and  called  to  Marya  Jadwiga, 
tired  of  the  stealthy  old  house,  tired  of  the  mystery  and 
shadow  of  deceit,  rebellious  of  an  atmosphere  in  which 
her  youth  stifled.  Soundlessly  she  slipped  outdoors 
and  away,  running  swift-footed  for  the  gipsies'  glen, 
that  green  hollow  between  friendly  dunes.  The  new 
green  grass  had  crept  out  and  covered  the  scars  of 
camp  fires.  It  made  a  soft  carpet  for  small  bare 
feet  to  dance  on.  She  knew  to  the  core  of  her  heart 
just  how  that  lovely,  lonesome  place  looked, — as 
though  it  waited  for  her,  and  how  through  the  sway- 
ing trees  the  moon  peeped  in  and  out,  a  silver  witch ; 
and  how  the  soft,  insistent  voice  of  running  water 
babbled  endlessly  to  the  listening  night.  The  night 
entered  her  blood  as  she  ran,  and  the  inherent  tame- 
lessness  of  her  surged  to  meet  it.  The  first  white 
flowers  of  the  spring  nodded  to  the  moon;  the  first 
white  moths  drifted  by  on  soundless  wings.  She 
paused  a  moment  to  shake  her  black  hair  free,  and 


THE  MOON'S  GODCHILD  43 

was  after  them,  silver-footed.  She  did  not  wish  to 
catch  them,  even  to  touch  them;  she  wished  to  play 
with  them.  They,  too,  were  a  part  of  the  night,  free 
children  of  it,  even  as  she  was. 

"Let  us  play  together  like  little  sisters,  moths. 
Don't  fly  from  me:  I  'm  only  Marya  Jadwiga!" 
she  cried,  bounding  forward.  Her  eyes  lit  up ;  they 
were  full  of  a  bright  and  phosphorescent  light,  like  the 
eyes  of  things  of  the  forest.  She  belonged  to  the 
moonlight.  Her  slim  body  was  argent.  Up  there 
in  the  sky  was  the  Witch  Lady,  the  Moon  Maid,  big, 
enigmatic,  beautiful,  like  a  lovely,  lonely  thought  in  a 
vast  brain. 

"I  love  you,  Moon,  I  love  you!"  cried  the  young 
girl,  flinging  up  her  arms.  "You  are  alive;  I  know 
you  are  alive.  I  know  you  know  me.  I  am  Marya 
Jadwiga,  Moon." 

When  she  reached  her  glen  she  sat  down  beside  the 
running  water  and  made  herself  a  garland  of  green 
leaves,  and  twined  it  about  her  shoulders,  and  upon 
her  head.  When  she  thrust  her  bare  feet  into  the  icy 
current  she  shrieked  with  laughter  at  its  touch. 

' '  What  cold  fingers  you  have,  Brook ! ' '  she  laughed. 
"You  are  very  sly,  but  I  know  more  than  you  think  I 
do :  I  know  you  are  only  water  in  the  daylight,  when 
the  sun  sees  you;  but  at  night  you  are  a  girl,  and 
alive.  I  like  the  way  you  sing,  Water.  I  can  sing, 
too.  I  am  going  to  sing  with  you.  You  will  like 
that.  I  am  Marya  Jadwiga,  Water."  She  sent  her 
wild  voice  flying  over  the  tree-tops,  and  kept  it  there, 
and  then  let  it  flutter  and  sink  and  sink,  down  and 


44  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

down,  until  it  rested  upon  the  bosom  of  the  water, 
and  flowed  into  its  running  music  and  died  away  upon 
it. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  Marya  Jadwiga  had  run 
away  in  the  night,  and  had  come  alive  with  the  soul 
of  things  under  the  moon  and  felt  herself  one  with 
them.  In  her  glen  were  two  straight  trees,  growing 
somewhat  close  together,  with  low,  swaying  branches 
bending  down.  She  knew  how  to  run,  leap  swiftly, 
catch  a  branch  with  both  hands,  hang  swaying  for 
a  turbulent,  delicious  moment,  and  then  let  go  to 
fly  arrow-straight  for  the  next  tree's  farthest  limb.  It 
was  like  having  wings  and  flying  above  the  earth. 
She  swung,  alighting  with  joyous  laughter. 

Back  in  the  castle  the  night  came  in  through  the 
baron's  curtainless,  shutterless  windows  and  filled 
his  bare  room  with  disturbing  radiance.  Unable  to 
sleep,  he  lay  with  his  arms  clasped  under  his  golden 
head  and  thought  about  this  old,  old  tragic  house 
and  its  inmates.  "Was  the  fact  that  Zuleski  had  said 
he  wished  his  daughter  to  speak  German  a  finger 
post,  as  it  were,  to  show  toward  which  side  his  secret 
inclinations  leaned?  That  side  had  very  much  to 
offer  him — more  than  the  other  side  had.  But — she 
spoke  Russian,  too.  One  wondered!  What  a  curi- 
ously appealing  little  mortal  it  was,  that  girl!  The 
eyes  of  her,  how  alluring,  how  mysterious.  But 
— dressed  like  a  peasant — feeding  geese — with  a 
handkerchief  on  her  head.  Good  heavens !  Zuleski 's 
daughter ! 


THE  MOON'S  GODCHILD  45 

And  then  he  thought  he  heard  a  sound, — a  bit  far 
off,  faint, — like  a  fairy  echo,  shrill  and  sweet.  He 
lay  still,  listening.  And  it  was  really  a  sound,  a 
voice,  wild  and  haunting.  Sitting  up  in  his  bed,  op- 
posite an  open  window,  he  could  see  green  rye-fields, 
and  beyond  them  low  dunes  and  the  black  sweep  of 
forest  against  the  sky.  He  could  see,  nearer  at  hand, 
the  brown  pathway  that  led  from  the  old  house,  and 
wound  and  wound  until  it  lost  itself  in  the  distance. 
Something  was  moving  on  that  pathway.  He  slipped 
out  of  bed  and  stole  to  the  window,  cautiously,  keep- 
ing himself  hidden  while  he  should  see  what  he 
should  see. 

The  moving  something  upon  the  path  came  into 
nearer  and  clearer  view — a  girl,  a  very  young  girl, 
in  some  sort  of  loose  white  garment.  He  could  see, 
too,  that  about  her  shoulders  and  waist  was  a  garland 
of  twisted  leaves,  and  how  her  little  naked  feet  flut- 
tered like  doves  on  the  brown  earth  as  she  danced. 
She  flung  her  slender  arms  above  her  head,  and  swayed 
as  a  birch-tree  on  a  hillside  sways  to  a  passing  wind, 
and  her  black  hair  was  a  living  thing  that  danced 
with  her.  She  skimmed  swallow-like,  and  swooped, 
and  floated  free,  her  arms  outspread  like  wings,  as 
though  the  Angel  of  the  Birds  had  taught  her.  There 
was  something  secret  and  unhuman  and  immortally 
young  and  beautiful  about  her  in  that  hour  and  place, 
and  in  her  wild  and  joyous  freedom.  So  the  chil- 
dren of  the  gods  danced  when  the  world  was  young. 
She  snatched  a  great  cluster  of  pale  spring  blossoms 


46  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

and  new  leaves  from  her  breast,  and  flung  them  into 
the  air,  caught  them  as  they  fell  about  her,  and 
tossed  them  into  the  air  again.  Primavera! 

The  young  man  flattened  in  the  deep  casement,  still 
as  in  a  trance,  hung,  absorbed,  upon  her  every  move- 
ment. Her  low  voice  like  the  sigh  of  the  night  wind 
stirred  an  intolerably  sweet  echo  in  him.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  was  looking  at  Spring  herself,  the  shy 
young  secret  Spring  of  the  North,  dancing  down  a 
magic  moon-path  to  the  world.  His  soul  of  a  German 
and  a  pagan  bowed  itself  before  those  flying  feet. 

She  paused,  and  stood  regarding  the  huge  black 
bulk  of  the  house  as  though  loath  to  enter  prisoning 
walls.  He  could  see  her  red  mouth,  her  ivory  cheeks 
framed  in  ebony  hair,  the  still  shining  of  her  luminous 
eyes.  There  crept  into  his  dazzled  mind  the  loveliest 
of  all  Baudelaire's  brainsick  songs: 

The  Moon,  who  is  caprice  itself,  looked  upon  you  asleep  in 
your  cradle,  and  said  in  her  heart,  This  is  a  child  after  my 
own  soul.  .  .  . 

And  gliding  down  the  silver  stairway  of  the  clouds,  she  .  .  . 
laid  her  colors  upon  your  face.  That  is  why  your  eyes  are 
green  and  your  cheeks  ivory  pale.  It  was  when  you  looked  at 
her  that  your  pupils  widened  so  mysteriously.  .  .  . 

The  Moon  said,  My  kiss  shall  be  upon  you  forever.  You 
shall  be  beautiful  as  I  am  beautiful.  You  shall  love  that 
which  I  love  and  that  by  which  I  am  loved,  water  and  clouds, 
night  and  silence;  .  .  .  the  place  where  you  shall  never  be, 
the  lover  you  shall  never  know  .  .  . 

That  is  why  ...  I  lie  at  your  feet  .  .  .  seeking  ...  to 
discover  in  you  the  image  of  the  fateful  goddess  .  .  . 


THE  MOON'S  GODCHILD  47 

The  wild  words  went  dancing,  nimble-footed, 
through  his  brain.  He  felt  that  he,  too,  was  of  the 
moonstruck  of  the  world,  and  the  thought  roused  in 
him  a  sweet  madness. 

Marya  Jadwiga  dropped  the  last  of  her  blossoms, 
and  stretched  out  her  arms  in  a  vague  and  wistful  ges- 
ture of  farewell  to  something  out  there  in  the  night; 
something  immense,  vital,  fateful,  known  to  her,  and 
of  which  she  was  beloved.  Her  young  bosom,  ten- 
der as  the  breasts  of  the  Spring,  rose  and  fell  to  a 
sighing  breath.  Then  her  arms  fell,  her  head  drooped. 
For  a  moment  she  stood,  the  fallen  white  flowers  no 
whiter  than  her  small  feet  upon  them.  Like  a 
breath,  a  dream,  a  vision,  she  was  gone. 

He,  too,  drew  a  long  and  sighing  breath,  partly  of 
rapture,  partly  of  relief,  as  one  stirred  to  the  depths 
by  the  wind  of  the  passing  of  a  thing  perilous  and 
unearthly  sweet.  He  had  been  snatched  for  a  space 
out  of  his  ordinary  life  and  emotions:  he  had  heard 
the  pipe  of  Pan  and  seen  a  hamadryad  dance  to  it: 
and  the  wind  that  stirred  his  hair  was  the  wind  of  a 
world  long  vanished,  of  a  time  foregone.  And  he  had 
a  prescience  that  not  even  so  wise  a  child  of  the  world 
as  Karl  Otto  Johann  von  Eittenheim  might  without 
peril  lean  from  a  castle  casement  under  the  midnight 
moon  and  look  with  mortal  eyes  upon  the  uncovered 
beauty  of  immortal  Spring. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE 

COUNT  FLORIAN  ZULESKI'S  once  san- 
guine complexion  was  now  of  that  wax-like 
pallor  which  marks  the  man  who  spends  his 
days  and  nights  in  sedentary  and  intellectual  labor. 
Two  vertical  lines,  so  deep  that  they  seemed  cut  into 
the  bones  of  his  high  forehead,  appeared  between 
eyes  which  were  long,  set  wide  apart,  and  of  a  lu- 
minous blue  gray.  His  aquiline  features  were  no- 
ticeably aristocratic,  the  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance meditative  and  ironical,  and  the  slightly  mock- 
ing smile  which  at  times  appeared  upon  his  thin  lips 
was  unexpectedly  sweet.  He  wore  his  great  attain- 
ments modestly,  his  poverty  nobly.  He  had  mathe- 
matical genius,  a  masterly  sense  of  order,  the  power 
of  realism,  and  an  uncanny  foresight.  With  a  sort 
of  inspired  and  cold  precision  he  concentrated  his 
powers  and  applied  mathematical  formulas  to  revolu- 
tionary activities,  to  ethics,  to  ideas,  and  to  men. 
An  aristocrat,  a  democrat,  a  genius,  and  a  fanatic, 
impenetrable,  of  an  exquisite  politeness — such  was  the 
man  Rittenheim  had  been  sent  to  test  and  to  fathom. 
The  German  had  been  carefully  trained  by  past 
masters  of  statecraft  and  diplomacy.  Capable,  dis- 

48 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  49 

passionate,  a  keen  and  usually  correct  judge  of  men 
and  motives,  he  was  not  easily  overreached.  Not  for 
nothing  did  those  higher  up  regard  him  with  favoring 
eyes!  He  had  in  a  measure  that  sixth  sense  which 
some  super-trained  men  manage  to  acquire,  and  some 
fewer  and  far  more  dangerous  men — men  like,  say, 
Czadowska  and  Zuleski — are  born  with.  He  felt  that 
there  must  be  something  more  here  than  appeared  on 
the  surface.  Yes:  but  what?  Could  Zuleski,  prop- 
erly stimulated  and  manipulated,  be  turned  into  a 
well-concealed  and  very  deadly  Bear-trap  ?  The  mak- 
ing of  highly  effective  Bear-traps  was  the  baron's 
specialty. 

He  had  an  almost  religious  respect  for  the  error- 
less intelligence  of  those  higher  up,  who  by  some  mar- 
vel seemed  to  know  when  and  where  to  look  for  the 
tempered  weapons  they  needed;  also,  just  when  and 
how  to  break  or  blunt  such  as  might  become  dangerous 
to  themselves.  That  they  regarded  Plorian  Zuleski 
as  some  such  possible  weapon  made  it  imperative  that 
he  should  discover  just  how  pliant  or  unbendable  he 
might  be,  for  or  against.  If  not  a  friend  to  the  Black 
Eagle,  then  a  foe  to  the  Bear.  It  was  not  possible 
that  a  Zuleski  could  find  it  in  his  heart  to  betray  the 
blood  and  befriend  the  Bear ! 

How  deep,  though,  might  that  lack  of  love  be? 
The  passive  absence  of  love  does  not  necessarily  imply 
the  active  presence  of  hate.  But  it  makes  room  for 
it.  A  man  must  be  for  or  against.  Only  God  and 
angels  may  be  spectators  of  and  not  actors  in  the 
drama  of  man.  Whoever  is  truly  human  must  play 


50  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

his  part  and  pay  or  be  paid  for  the  playing.  Zuleski 
was  not  of  the  angels. 

On  the  second  morning  the  baron  paid  a  visit  to 
"Wenceslaus — out  of  sheer  kindness  of  heart,  of  course. 
He  agreed  with  one  part  of  Josika's  appraisement: 
the  old  man  was  irredeemably  good.  As  to  the  stupid- 
ity she  ascribed  to  him,  if  simple  faith  and  pure  love 
make  for  stupidity,  Wenceslaus  was  hopeless.  The 
baron  looked  at  the  ikon  of  the  Virgin,  before  which 
a  small  red  light  burned,  at  the  crucifix  worn  thin 
from  the  pressure  of  praying  lips,  and  dismissed 
Wenceslaus  from  his  calculations. 

Toward  noon  appeared  a  swarthy  gipsy,  bringing 
a  bundle  of  roots  and  herbs  tied  with  wisps  of  straw. 
Zuleski  laid  them  on  his  desk,  and  paid  the  fellow  a 
small  coin,  while  from  force  of  habit  Rittenheim 
looked  the  man  over — vilely  clothed,  dusty,  dull- 
faced.  The  gipsy  fumbled  in  his  clothes  and  pro- 
duced from  a  knotted  corner  of  a  square  of  brownish 
linen  an  old  coin  for  which  he  had  traded  another 
gipsy  a  knife.  It  had  been  found,  he  believed,  in 
Serbia.  Would  the  Wellborn  graciously  advise  him 
if  it  was  worth  anything,  and  how  much  ?  The  Well- 
born examined  it,  told  its  probable  value,  and  dis- 
missed him,  with  an  order  to  stop  in  the  kitchen  for 
a  glass  of  beer  and  some  bread  and  cheese.  Then 
he  turned  to  his  guest,  who  was  not  much  interested, 
and  said,  his  face  becoming  animated: 

"I  have  been  indebted  to  these  fellows  for  some 
rather  rare  plants  and  insects.  And  I  am  tremen- 
dously interested  in  their  language."  And  he  began 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  51 

to  speak  of  that  singular  race  whose  known  history  is 
so  tragic  and  so  wild,  and  whose  real  origin  and  name 
remain  a  matter  of  dispute  among  scholars.  Zuleski 
had  his  own  opinion  of  both,  and  the  German  listened 
with  a  cultivated  man's  attention,  and  lost  interest  in 
a  particular  gipsy,  in  a  larger  concern  with  the  Zig- 
euner  as  a  people. 

After  a  while  he  strolled  out  into  the  courtyard 
where  Marya  Jadwiga  sat  with  her  big  yellow  cat 
Vasily  across  her  knees.  He  looked  into  her  gray- 
green  eyes,  and,  child's  eyes  though  they  were,  they 
had  power  to  stir  in  him  something  no  other  eyes  had 
been  able  to  awaken.  This  astonished  him,  but  not 
unpleasantly. 

His  imagination  played  with  the  thought  of  what 
she  would  be  a  few  years  hence,  and  his  pulse  quick- 
ened. She  would  be  one  in  ten  thousand,  one  of  those 
vital  and  glamorous  women  such  as  they  who  are  en- 
shrined and  enskied  in  old  songs  and  older  stories, 
women  who  still  have  power  to  stir  the  hearts  of  men 
though  their  own  hearts  be  long  since  gone  to  dust. 
This  little  Marya  Jadwiga  in  her  peasant's  dress  was 
of  the  seed  of  the  children  of  fate. 

He  would  never  willingly  lose  track  of  her.  He 
must  see  her  from  time  to  time,  watch  the  lovely  mira- 
cle of  her  unfolding.  He  did  not  as  a  rule  like  the 
jejune,  and  the  acridity  of  the  unripe  had  no  charm 
for  him.  But  this  girl  held  a  nameless  fascination, 
stirred  his  imagination  dangerously.  In  a  few  years — 
Here  the  baron  brought  his  fancy  up  with  a  jerk, 
smiling  at  himself  half  scornfully.  She  was — what 


52  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

she  was,  and  what  she  would  be.  But  always  lie  was 
Karl  Otto  Johann,  Baron  von  Rittenheim,  squire  of 
noble  dames,  related  by  blood  to  the  great  houses  of 
two  empires. 

Nevertheless  Marya  Jadwiga  stayed  in  his  mind 
with  amazing  tenacity,  and  her  green  eyes  perturbed 
him  profoundly.  Perhaps  she  appealed  to  him  so 
potently  because  of  her  isolation,  he  reflected.  And 
he  thought  of  the  three  von  Rosen  girls,  who  chattered 
French,  wore  Paris  frocks,  and  played  American  rag- 
time with  great  verve.  He  wondered  what  Margarete, 
the  prettiest  and  haughtiest,  would  think  of  Marya 
Jadwiga.  At  that,  ironical  laughter  seized  him.  He 
said  to  himself  perversely: 

"I  will  bring  them  together.  I  will  have  the 
demoiselles  Rosen  and  the  gracious  lady  their 
mamma  come  and  sit  beside  this  Cinderella  who  has 
no  fairy  godmother.  Then  I  shall  discover  whether  I 
really  prefer  the  eyes  of  Undine  to  prettier,  rosier 
faces,  the  moon's  godchild  to  daylight's  daughters. 
Yes,  I  shall  put  you  to  the  test,  Marya  Jadwiga ! ' ' 

He  had  another  long  talk  with  Count  Florian  before 
bidding  him  and  his  daughter  a  polite  farewell.  He 
bestowed  upon  the  woman  Josika  a  coin,  though  she 
had,  of  course,  nothing  to  report.  Then  he  rode 
away,  a  gay  and  gallant  figure,  a  beautiful  and  per- 
fect type  of  the  race  that  has  produced  such  beautiful 
and  terrible  men. 

When  horse  and  rider  had  vanished  in  a  blue  haze, 
the  count  went  back  to  his  library.  Josika  watched 
him  furtively,  with  the  fearful  curiosity  with  which 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  53 

he  always  inspired  her.  Half-way  up  the  stairs  he 
turned  and  looked  down  at  her ;  a  long,  still,  penetrat- 
ing look.  He  was  smiling.  Of  a  sudden  the  crafty 
woman  was  most  horribly  afraid. 

Alone  in  his  library,  he  broke  into  soundless  laugh- 
ter. There  was  something  ferocious  and  dreadful  in 
this  silent,  mirthless  mirth.  He  recalled  his  talk  with 
the  baron ;  and,  skilled  as  the  German  was,  powerful 
as  were  those  behind  him,  Zuleski  knew  himself  more 
than  a  match  for  them  all. 

This  revolutionary  who  was  working  for  the  libera- 
tion of  men  had  no  illusions  about  them.  He  knew 
the  temper  of  the  Polish  nobles,  with  their  medieval 
minds;  the  crass  selfishness  of  the  landed,  the  crass 
stupidity  of  the  landless,  the  intolerant  bigotry  of  the 
Church,  the  intolerable  rapacity  of  the  Jews;  the 
chauvinism  of  Poles  as  a  people.  He  knew,  too,  the 
Oriental  passivity  of  Russians  as  a  people,  and  their 
barbarous  illiteracy.  Yet  he  was  not  in  the  least  dis- 
heartened. He  had,  rather,  a  sense  of  exaltation,  for 
under  all  superimposed  disguises  he  had  glimpsed  the 
souls  of  Poland  and  Russia — souls  in  shadow  but 
groping  toward  the  light.  No,  not  vainly,  not  for- 
tuitously had  he  starved  and  pinched  and  toiled,  suf- 
fered and  planned  and  plotted  in  secrecy  and  obscur- 
ity, that  the  holy  flame  might  be  kept  alive!  If  he 
fell,  other  hands  there  were  to  pick  up  the  torch  when 
and  where  he  dropped  it.  It  was  a  torch  never  to  be 
extinguished.  And  at  that  thought  his  eyes  flashed, 
his  nostrils  quivered,  his  heart  swelled  with  an  emo- 
tion that  was  agony.  But  even  in  that  moment  the 


54  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

agony  became  physical.  He  stopped  short,  clawing  at 
his  breast;  a  frightful  sense  of  suffocation  overcame 
him.  His  eyes  sank  into  his  head ;  he  shuddered,  and 
collapsed  into  his  chair,  his  head  fallen  upon  his  desk. 

"When  he  recovered,  Marya  Jadwiga  was  standing 
beside  him,  regarding  him  with  anxious  eyes. 

"I  knocked  and  knocked,  but  you  didn't  answer. 
Were  you  asleep  ? ' '  she  asked  dubiously. 

"I  was  dreaming,"  said  Florian  Zuleski,  and  looked 
at  her  with  an  old  eagle's  eyes.  "I  do  not  feel  quite 
well  enough  to  talk  with  you  at  length,  but  perhaps 
I  should  tell  you  now  that  my  plans  for  you  may 
have  to  be  changed.  You  must  hold  yourself  in  read- 
iness for  whatever  may  happen.  No,  you  can  do  noth- 
ing for  me.  So  go,  my  child."  And  when  she  had, 
with  visible  reluctance,  obeyed  him,  he  sat  for  a  time, 
staring  straight  ahead. 

"I  have  received  the  ukase,"  he  said  to  himself, 
without  fear.  "Now,  God  of  justice!  let  me  at  least 
make  the  most  of  my  time ! ' ' 

Presently,  reaching  for  the  bundle  of  roots  and 
herbs  which  Wincenty  the  gipsy  had  brought  him,  he 
set  to  work  to  extract  concealed  virtues  in  the  shape 
of  very  thin  spirals  and  pellets  cunningly  inserted  in 
the  hearts  of  roots  and  the  pith  of  stalks.  He  was 
engaged  thus  when  a  timid  knock  sounded  upon  the 
door.  He  swept  the  result  of  his  research  aside  before 
he  called,  sharply,  "Enter!" 

Josika  came  in,  smiling  apologetically,  and  stood 
twisting  her  apron  around  her  hands. 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  55 

"The  little  lady  was  greatly  troubled  in  her  mind 
about  you,  sir.  She  called  you  many  times,  and 
you  did  not  seem  to  hear.  I  am  very  strong;  I  have 
nursed  many  sicknesses,  and  I  have  had  to  pick  up 
people  and  carry  them  in  my  arms.  Yes,  I  am  strong. 
So  I  came  to  see  if  I  could  be  of  any  use  to  you,  if — 
anything  might  be  wrong  with  you." 

"I  do  not  need  help.  Do  not  come  again,  unless  I 
summon  you.  I  never  permit  myself  to  be  inter- 
rupted," said  the  count,  looking  at  her  attentively, 
and  not  liking  her.  The  lines  in  his  forehead  grew 
deeper. 

' '  Yes,  panic.  But  the  young  lady  was  afraid.  And 
I  thought  you  might  be  ill  and  need  me. ' '  She  bowed 
respectfully  and  withdrew. 

The  count  locked  the  door  after  her,  and  went  back 
to  studying  his  wondrous  pellets  and  spirals.  It  was 
a  very  clever  idea,  and  Wincenty  was  invaluable ! 

Downstairs  in  his  kitchen,  unknown  to  him,  a  red- 
haired  man  talked  to  Josika,  who  was  not  glad  to  see 
him ;  she  felt  that  she  could  have  dispensed  with  her 
brother's  visits. 

"And  how  do  you  like  this  Zuleski?"  he  was  ask- 
ing her. 

"I  see  him  so  seldom,"  she  parried.  "And  how 
shall  one  like  a  Znach&rf"  She  shrugged.  "But 
what  then?  I  don't  think  he  will  put  spells  on  me. 
As  to  my  coming  here,  it  was  like  this:  They  sent 
word  to  the  priest,  'We  must  have  help  here/  The 
priest  replied,  'Here  is  a  woman  named  Josika.  I 


56  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

send  her  to  you  with  my  blessing. '  Very  well ;  I  am 
here.  As  for  you,  what  do  you  think  of  this  Zu- 
leski?" 

"I  think  he  has  nothing,  therefore  he  cannot  op- 
press people  who  also  have  nothing." 

"Yes,"  she  ruminated,  "he  has  nothing.  Saint 
Nicolas !  how  they  live,  here !  Like  muzhiks !  As  for 
that  girl — peasants'  food — that  is  how  she  fares! 
Peasants'  clothes — that  is  what  she  wears!  She  is  no 
better  than  anybody  else!" 

Sergei  watched  her  narrowly.  He  did  not  trust  his 
half-sister.  Also,  he  knew  that  a  German  nobleman 
had  seen  Zuleski  only  that  day.  So  far  Josika  had 
not  thought  good  to  mention  this. 

"If  you  don't  wish  to  stay  here,  you  can  come 
along  with  me;  back  to  Moscow,  perhaps,"  he  told 
her,  after  a  pause. 

She  changed  countenance.  She  did  not  wish  to  go 
with  him  to  Moscow  or  anywhere  else.  And  she  was 
not  over-anxious  to  leave  the  Zuleski  household  until 
she  had  made  a  vigorous  search  for  such  as  she  might 
find.  She  said  sweetly: 

"No.  These  people,  though  they  are  nothing  to  me, 
need  me.  I  will  not  leave  them  until  that  old  fool  is 
up  and  about  again.  Also,  I  'm  tired  of  moving 
around  with  you  so  much.  And  if  I  make  but  little 
here,  I  spend  less." 

"That  is  so,"  said  he,  calmly.  "Stay,  then.  You 
\vill  have  that  much  more  to  give  to  the  Cause." 

* '  I  have  my  own  cause, ' '  said  she,  sourly.  ' '  I  want 
clothes.  I  want — oh,  there  are  so  many  things  I  want ! 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  57 

You  never  think  of  that.    You  and  your  Cause !'* 

He  half  rose,  with  a  threatening  gesture.  But  she- 
leaped  nimbly  aside,  and  as  she  did  so  she  seized  the 
carving-knife,  on  the  table  near  by.  Her  small  blue 
eyes  flashed. 

''No!"  she  cried,  breathing  quickly.  "No!  I  Ve 
had  enough  of  your  fist.  If  you  try  to  beat  me,  I 
shall  try  to  kill  you.  And  I  will  not  give  you  all  my 
money  to  do  as  you  please  with,  ever  any  more.  I 
will  give  you  only  what  I  please  to  give  you;  no 
more." 

"No?"  he  stared  at  her  with  an  almost  ridiculous 
astonishment.  "No?  But  what,  then,  will  you  do 
with  what  you  earn,  animal  ?  Pig  of  a  woman,  shall 
one  labor  for  oneself  alone?  Is  that  all  you  Ve  been, 
able  to  learn,  beast  ? ' '  Far  back  in  his  eyes  appeared 
a  gleam,  like  a  faint  reflection  of  fire. 

Josika  saw  that  gleam,  and  did  not  like  it.  Angry 
as  she  was,  and  rebellious,  she  feared  to  break  with 
him  altogether.  Better  armed  neutrality  than  open 
war,  with  Sergei.  She  said,  after  a  moment's  rapid 
reckoning : 

"No,  that  's  not  all  I  've  learned:  I  will  share. 
One  tenth  you  shall  have,  as  the  orthodox  are  com- 
manded. But  no  more.  Never  any  more." 

Sergei  sat  down.  He  was  a  bigger  man,  even,  than 
she  was  a  woman,  with  the  fair  complexion,  the  clear, 
small  blue  eyes,  and  the  light  hair  and  beard  of  the 
North.  He  had  the  true  Russian  nose,  and  his  face 
was  deceptive  in  that  it  had  the  ruminating  expression 
of  a  slow-thinking,  good-natured  peasant. 


58  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

His  unexpected  calmness  in  the  face  of  her  rebel- 
lion did  not  give  her  any  sense  of  triumph.  She  felt 
distinctly  uneasy,  and  she  wished  it  were  in  her  power 
to  remove  him  altogether  from  her  life.  She  thought : 
''When  I  find  the  old  wizard's  gold,  when  I  have 
enough  money  to  get  away  from  this  accursed  place 
where  one  works  like  a  machine  and  has  nothing  for 
one 's  pains,  I  will  pay  you  back  for  all  those  beatings 
you  have  given  me,  all  the  money  you  have  taken  from 
me  for  your  Cause — you  prowling  tomcat  of  the  devil ! 
That  German  baron  shall  know  of  your  doings,  and 
I  will  also  tell  Czadowska  many  things  that  I  know  of 
you,  my  fine  brother ! ' '  And  she  looked  at  him  out  of 
the  corners  of  her  eyes,  spitefully.  But  he  was  say- 
ing, with  apparent  unconcern: 

"One  tenth  is  the  tithe,  according  to  the  Holy 
Scriptures.  I  '11  not  demand  more  from  you  than 
that,  but  I  '11  accept  no  less." 

"That  's  settled,  then,"  said  she,  still  more  aston- 
ished at  the  ease  with  which  she  had  won  a  victory. 
She  set  before  him  black  bread  and  salted  cucumbers 
and  hot  tea,  with  a  small  saucer  of  cherry  preserves. 
While  he  ate  they  talked  of  the  priest  and  his  wife, 
and  of  such  others  as  were  known  to  them.  Sergei 
asked  no  more  questions  about  Zuleski,  remarking 
briefly  that  perhaps,  as  she  suspected,  the  old  gentle- 
man was  moonstruck  from  staring  too  long  at  the  skies 
at  night. 

Josika  said  presently: 

"That  German  who  stopped  here  didn't  seem  to 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  59 

think  him  moonstruck.  Or  perhaps  it  was  because  he 
wished  to  please  the  daughter  that  he  was  so  pleasant 
to  the  father. ' '  And  she  began  to  speak  with  a  peas- 
ant's  coarseness. 

Sergei  interrupted : 

" There  was  a  German  here?  But  that  's  nothing. 
There  are  Germans  everywhere." 

"There  are  not  many  like  this  one,  anywhere.  He 
is  a  great  nobleman,  handsome  as  the  Tsarevitch  Ivan 
in  our  old  stories.  His  name  is  von  Rittenheim.  I 
don 't  know  why  he  came.  He  talked  a  long  time  with 
the  count.  And  I  saw  him  looking  at  that  cat-faced 
girl." 

"You  seem  to  have  looked  at  him.  Probably  the 
sun  was  in  your  eyes?"  Sergei  said  mockingly,  and 
with  a  hateful  smile. 

' '  Me  ? "  snarled  Josika.  "  Pig !  What  is  he— what 
are  any  of  them — to  me  ?  " 

"Yes:  what  are  any  of  them  to  any  of  us?"  Sergei 
agreed.  He  stood  up.  "Now  show  me  a  place  to 
sleep  for  an  hour  or  two.  I  must  be  on  my  way  before 
sunrise. ' ' 

Josika  threw  some  clean  straw  into  a  corner  of  one 
of  the  many  unused  rooms,  and  spread  over  it  a  dingy 
blanket.  He  was  not  squeamish,  he  who  had  in  his 
time  slept  in  cellars,  in  jails,  and  in  ditches. 

"I  will  let  myself  out.  Don't  come  sneaking  in 
here  before  I  wake  up,  or  I  '11  let  you  have  my  stick 
across  your  back.  Give  me  some  bread  to  put  in  my 
knapsack,  and  be  off  with  you,"  said  the  affectionate 


60  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

brother  to  the  loving  sister.  He  shut  the  door  upon 
her  and  stretched  himself  upon  his  straw,  with  his 
knapsack  for  a  pillow  under  his  head. 

"What  is  she  up  to?"  he  wondered,  ndt  in  the  least 
deceived  by  her  apparent  naturalness  in  at  last  men- 
tioning the  German.  ' '  All  women  bear  watching  and 
need  beating,  but  this  one  more  than  most.  Spawn 
of  Sathanas,  if  I  catch  you  up  to  any  tricks — ! ' '  He 
turned  on  his  side  and  closed  his  eyes.  "But  I  am 
able  to  deal  with  you ! ' '  said -Sergei,  and  went  to  sleep. 

He  was  up  and  on  his  way  before  the  sky  turned 
pink.  Josika  stole  to  a  window  and  watched  him  dis- 
appear. 

' '  I  hope  you  break  your  neck'  in  a  ditch ! ' '  was  her 
thought. 

"I  will  keep  my  eye  on  you,  hussy,"  was  his. 

When  Rittenheim  reached  his  obvious  objective, 
the  estate  of  the  Baron  von  Rosen,  he  was  wel- 
comed heartily  by  the  owner,  and  with  effusion  by  the 
ladies  of  the  household.  For  he  was  a  very  much 
sought-after  young  man. 

He  did  not  mention  Zuleski  or  Zuleski's  daughter 
until  he  had  patiently  answered  all  their  eager  ques- 
tions about  friends  and  happenings  in  Berlin,  and 
had  listened  to  their  complaints  and  laments  about  be- 
ing out  of  it.  The  young  ladies  hated  the  country. 
One  could  not  imagine  how  frightfully  dull  it  was 
here !  Nowhere  to  go,  nothing  to  see,  nobody  to  amuse 
oneself  with ;  Papa 's  friends,  like  Papa  himself,  stodg- 
ing about  cattle  and  produce  and  farm  machinery  and 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  61 

peasants !  They  tossed  their  blond  heads  and  pouted7 
their  pretty  mouths. 

"You  have  at  least  two  interesting  neighbors — 
Count  Florian  Zuleski  and  his  daughter,"  said  the. 
young  man,  casually. 

Margarete  looked  bored,  Lilli  disdainful.  What,, 
that  old  owl  who  roosted  in  a  corner  of  a  ruin? 
People  said  he  was  mad.  And  one  didn't  know  the- 
daughter.  Bettine,  the  youngest  fraulein,  an  out- 
rageously spoiled  child  of  twelve,  giggled. 

"One  of  our  maids,  who  has  seen  her,  says  the 
daughter  wears  a  shawl  over  her  head!  Just  imag- 
ine!" She  giggled  again. 

"The  Zuleski  family,"  said  the  baron,  "are  as  well 
born  as  any,  and  better  born  than  many.  The  little 
countess  has  never  been  away  from  home ;  she  has  been 
educated  by  her  father.  But — he  is  a  scientist,  she  is 
a  young  maiden,  so  it  may  be  that  she  wears  a  white 
head-covering.  I  can  also  tell  you  that  she  wears  a 
white  smock,  over  which  is-  a  blue  woolen  dress,  and  a 
red  apron.  She  is  so  entirely  charming  in  this  cos- 
tume that  one  suspects  her  of  having  stepped  out  of 
the  pages  of  Hans  Andersen  or  the  brothers  Grimm. ' ' 

"•She  is  pretty?"  Margarete  herself  was  a  beauty 
and  a  toast,  and  could  afford  to  be  free  from  jealousy 
of  lesser  lights,  particularly  when  they  wore  head- 
kerchiefs. 

"She  is  unusual,"  he  replied,  cautiously. 

The  gracious  lady  their  mamma  looked  up  from 
her  sewing. 

"Ach,  the  poor  child!     Raised  by  a  hermit  scien- 


€2  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

tist!  But  those  Zuleski  are  highborn,  as  you  say, 
Baron :  one  should  respect  their  rank.  If  rank  is  not 
respected,  what  is  to  become  of  us  all?  Margarete, 
why  not  call  on  this  so-poor  and  charming  young 
lady?"  And  she  smiled  her  kind  and  placid  smile 
and  nodded  her  blond  head. 

"Oh,  dear  Mamma,  please!  I  wish  to  see  her! — 
Tell  us  more  about  her,  Herr  Baron!  Does  the  old 
enchanter  keep  her  locked  up  in  his  tower?  I  wish 
to  go  and  see  these  people  ! — Mamma,  say  yes !  I  will 
run  off  and  go  there  some  day  by  myself  if  you  do  not 
at  once  say  yes ! ' '  cried  Bettine. 

"After  all,  why  not?  It  is  so  frightfully  dull 
here!"  sighed  Lilli.  "We  don't  have  to  cultivate 
them  if  we  don't  like  them. — Baron,  does  the  old 
gentleman  wear  a  pointed  cap  and  a  dark  robe  painted 
with  stars  and  moons  ?  I  think  I  shall  ask  him  to  tell 
my  fortune :  '  Fraulein  Lilli,  you  will  be  twice  mar- 
ried, each  time  to  an  e-nor-mous-ly  wealthy  nobleman 
who  will  adore  you  and  never,  never,  never  permit 
you  to  languish  in  the  country ! '  And  the  daughter : 
is  she  a  witch,  as  her  father  is  a  wizard  ?  I  shall  have 
her  make  spells  for  me!" 

A  lithe,  blithe,  lovely  shape  garlanded  with  spring 
leaves,  a  vision  of  Youth  dancing  with  naked  feet  in 
the  heart  of  the  night,  rose  before  the  young  man. 
He  said,  smiling  at  rosy,  pouting  Lilli: 

"All  charming  young  girls  are  witches." 

"I  did  not  know  they  received,"  said  Margarete, 
indifferently.  "But  if  it  would  amuse  you,  Lilli — 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  63 

and  give  Mamma  a  chance  to  play  Samaritan — and  as 
you  say  these  people  are  unusual,  Baron — why,  we 
will  call,  if  you  like." 

A  servant  was  presently  despatched  with  a  note  to 
Count  Florian  Zuleski  from  the  Baroness  von  Rosen, 
stating  that  she  and  her  daughters,  accompanied  by 
the  Baron  von  Rittenheim,  would  be  pleased  to  call 
upon  him  and  his  daughter,  on  an  afternoon  to  be 
named  by  him.  The  baroness  was  a  kind  woman, 
and  Rittenheim 's  account  of  Marya  Jadwiga  had 
touched  and  interested  her.  Count  Florian  Zuleski 
replied  that  he  and  his  daughter  would  be  charmed 
to  receive  these  gracious  visitors  on  the  following 
Wednesday  afternoon. 

"But  why  should  they  come?  They  do  not  know 
us!"  said  Marya  Jadwiga,  when  he  told  her.  She 
looked  astonished. 

"They  wish  to  rectify  that  misfortune,"  said  the 
count,  dryly.  "You  will  receive  them  of  course. 
The  young  ladies  are  very  fashionable — what  one 
might  call  social  favorites. ' '  It  never  for  one  moment 
occurred  to  him  that  a  woman  of  the  Zuleski  family 
could  or  should  find  it  embarrassing  or  humiliating  to 
meet  anybody  at  any  time  in  any  circumstances.  Had 
the  empress  of  all  the  earth,  or  the  queen  of  heaven, 
herself,  called  upon  Zuleski,  he  would  have  received 
her  without  the  least  trepidation. 

"I  should  very  much  like  to  see  them.  I  have 
never  seen  a  beautiful  young  lady  except  in  my 
books,"  said  the  girl.  She  raised  her  eyes,  with  a 


64  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

fleeting  and  shy  smile.  "I  hope  they  will  be  pleased 
with  me,"  she  added.  "I  have  at  times  wondered  in 
my  heart  what  it  would  be  like  to  know  girls." 

Zuleski,  who  knew  that  Rittenheim  was  behind 
this  move,  and  guessed  at  least  a  part  of  his  motives, 
studied  his  daughter  with  the  calmly  appraising  eye 
of  a  stranger.  He  was  sensible  of  her  unusual  appeal, 
her  beauty  that  had  the  touch  of  things  that  are  wild. 
He  thought  it  a  beauty  that  would  appeal  more  po- 
tently to  discriminating  men  than  to  fashionable 
women.  How  would  these  regard  her?  He  noticed, 
then,  how  threadbare  her  frock  was,  though  worn  with 
the  daintiness  inseparable  from  Marya  Jadwiga. 

' '  Have  you  no  other  dress  ? ' ' 

"No.  And  this  one  is  about  worn  out.  Wences- 
laus  was  grumbling  about  it  this  morning. ' ' 

He  reflected. 

' '  There  are  some  things  of  your  grandmother 's  and 
your  mother's  locked  up  in  the  wardrobe  in  the  room 
next  the  library.  You  may  look  them  over  and  se- 
lect what  you  need.  I  should  not  like  your  mother's 
daughter  to  make  a  poor  appearance  before  these 
proud  Germans."  And  he  took  a  key  from  his  key 
ring  and  gave  it  to  her. 

She  received  the  key  reverently.  The  thought  of 
handling  things  that  had  belonged  to  her  mother 
made  her  throat  ache  and  her  hands  tremble.  It  did 
not  occur  to  her  or  to  her  father  that  these  laid-by 
garments  might  be  unsuitable. 

The  man  had  been  so  long  out  of  touch  with  the 
moving  outside  world's  changing  decrees  of  fashion 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  65 

that  these  had  no  meaning  for  him.  "When  the  adored 
figure  of  his  wife  appeared  before  his  memory,  she 
seemed  so  lovely,  so  perfect,  that  what  she  had  once 
worn  must  always  be  lovely  and  perfect,  and  suit- 
able for  any  lady  at  any  time  or  place.  He  had  kept 
in  touch  with  the  advanced  thought  of  the  world, 
abreast  of  its  science,  but  not  with  the  vagaries  of 
body  coverings.  The  magazines  and  books  which 
came  to  him  were  scientific,  technical,  historical,  or 
literary.  Such  illustrations  as  they  contained  did 
not  bear  upon  the  problem  which  now  confronted 
him:  What  shall  a  young  girl  wear? 

Marya  Jadwiga  was  even  more  ignorant  than  he 
concerning  the  world  outside  her  small  domain,  for 
she  had  never  seen  it;  she  knew  nothing  of  it  except 
from  books.  And  many  of  these,  bought  secondhand, 
contained  illustrations  of  the  vintage  of  the  sixties, 
seventies,  and  eighties.  Here  were  Byronic  males — 
fine  fops,  gentlemen  in  tight  trousers,  full-skirted 
coats,  frilled  shirts,  with  high  hats  crowning  their 
bewhiskered  countenances.  Here  were  ladies  hold- 
ing posies,  or  maybe  a  letter,  or  a  dead  bird,  in  ex- 
tremely taper  fingers,  and  with  only  the  slightest 
impediment  in  the  way  of  clothes  between  their  chins 
and  their  waists;  here  were  bewilderingly  dressed 
creatures  in  crinoline  and  bonnets,  their  shoulders 
draped  with  shawls ;  ringleted  children  in  low-necked 
frocks,  with  long,  scalloped  pantalets  ending  just 
above  their  strapped  ankles.  Not  much  here  to  guide 
one  along  the  modern  clothes  line! 

The  garments  W7hich  Zuleski  had  kept  with  such 


66 

pious  care  were  in  fatally  good  condition.  Neither 
of  the  ladies  to  whom  they  had  belonged  had  enjoyed 
a  large  wardrobe,  and  Mary  Jadwiga  had  only  a  few 
things  from  which  to  select.  Those  that  had  belonged 
to  her  grandmother  were  not  without  a  certain  ele- 
gance, and  of  these  the  one  that  pleased  her  most 
was  a  plaid  silk.  It  had  a  round  basque,  the  low  neck 
and  elbow  sleeves  trimmed  with  yellowed  lace.  Down 
the  front  ran  a  straight  line  of  cherry-colored  glass 
buttons,  and  it  was  edged  with  pleated  folds  of  silk 
ending  in  a  fantail  in  the  back.  The  voluminous 
skirt  was  looped  up,  sides  and  back,  and  its  short 
train  was  edged  with  a  knife-pleated  frill. 

That  frilly  train  slithered  across  the  floor  with  a 
swishy,  crinkly,  silky  rustling  that  enraptured  her 
ear.  The  cherry-colored  buttons  flashed  like  rubies, 
and  the  thick  silk  was  delightful  to  unaccustomed 
fingers.  In  some  of  her  books  ladies  were  pictured 
wearing  just  such  dresses  as  this. 

Her  grandmother  had  been  tall  and  of  a  full  figure. 
One  could  not  expect  her  clothes  to  fit  a  little,  vir- 
ginal, sixteen-year-old  shape,  with  its  flat  hips  and 
angular  arms  and  shoulders.  The  young  girl's  hips 
were  where  her  grandmother's  waist  had  been  in  the 
basque,  and  where  the  lady's  fine  bosom  had  fitted 
snugly  were  sadly  puckered  pockets.  The  basque 
could  have  buttoned  once  and  a  half  around  the  girl, 
and  its  neck  was  unfortunately  low  and  wide  on  her 
shoulders.  But  she  found  a  wine-colored  satin  sash 
with  fringed  ends,  and  this  she  tied  around  her 
waist,  making  a  flat  bow  just  above  the  pleated  fan- 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  67 

tail.  This  helped  hold  the  skirt  to  her  uncorseted 
hips.  The  skirt  was  very  much  too  long,  so  long  that 
she  tripped  on  it.  But  a  few  more  loopings-up  would 
not  hurt  the  style,  she  thought. 

Packed  away  in  a  box  were  her  mother's  white- 
satin  wedding  slippers  and  silk  stockings.  The  slip- 
pers were  spotted  and  yellowed;  they  turned  up  at 
the  toes;  they  wabbled  at  the  heels.  But  the  heels 
were  heart-satisfyingly  high.  She  hung  around  her 
neck  an  old  linked  necklace  whose  large  flat  locket 
contained  a  wisp  of  her  grandfather  7s  hair,  and  pinned 
the  overlapped  front  of  her  basque  with  the  brooch 
that  matched  the  locket.  'She  hoped  she  was  not 
vain:  but  she  could  not  help  feeling  excited  and  joy- 
ous. Teetering  in  her  high-heeled  slippers,  craning 
her  neck  to  catch  the  effect  of  her  slithering  train, 
she  did  not  know  that  she  resembled  a  darling  child 
"dressing  up"  to  amuse  itself  and  its  elders. 

On  the  appointed  Wednesday  Zuleski  received  his 
visitors  in  his  big  bare  hall.  At  sight  of  his  tall, 
austere  figure  the  young  ladies  suffered  a  distinct 
shock  of  surprise.  This  stately  personage  was  not 
at  all  what  they  had  fancied  the  old  owl  in  the  ruin 
would  be.  This  man  commanded  and  received  re- 
spect. His  open  poverty  backgrounded  him  with  a 
high  pride  to  which  they  were  strangers.  He  knew  it 
was  their  fault,  not  his! 

Kittenheim  mentally  rubbed  his  hands.  Ah,  you 
proud  ladies!  if  the  oM,  shabby  scholar  so  im- 
presses you,  wait  until  Marya  Jadwiga  appears! 
Wait  until  you  see  her  eyes  of  Undine,  coolly  sweet 


68 

under  her  white  head-kerchief ;  her  young  throat  ris- 
ing pure  and  pearly  from  her  dark  frock;  her 
face  like  an  ivory  gem  found  in  one  of  those  old  tombs 
where  Egyptain  queens  are  buried!  Yes,  wait  until 
you  see  her,  the  king's  daughter  disguised  as  a  peas- 
ant maid.  And  looking  at  the  three  young  ladies, 
smartly  attired,  and  their  mamma,  a  model  of  ma- 
tronly comeliness,  the  young  man  smiled  proudly. 

There  was  a  click  of  heels  upon  the  stairs.  Every- 
body looked  up,  with  a  sort  of  eager  expectation. 
And  there  appeared  a  figure  as  from  some  childish 
frolic,  in  the  most  astounding  plaid  frock  any  of  them 
had  ever  seen.  Above  this  travesty  of  a  dress  were 
a  young  and  innocent  face,  a  little  head  upon  which 
the  black  hair  had  been  piled  high  and  held  in  place 
with  a  huge  tortoise-shell  comb — a  coiffure  evidently 
copied  from  some  old  illustration.  Holding  her  too- 
long  skirt  with  both  hands  to  save  herself  from  a 
tumble,  she  reached  the  bottom  step  and  stood  still 
for  a  moment  before  making  her  staring  guests  a 
gravely  polite  courtesy. 

The  baroness  put  out  a  limp  hand  and  said  feebly: 
"How  do  you  do,  my  dear  young  lady?  I  am  very 
glad  to  make  your  acquaintance."  Margarete,  full 
of  cool  amusement,  felt  almost  a  liking  for  the  little 
caricature,  concerning  whom  the  hypercritical 
Rittenheim  had  whetted  their  curiosity.  Unusual, 
he  said?  Oh,  very!  About  the  most  unusual  thing 
she  had  ever  seen!  She  took  the  young  girl's  hand 
and  said  truthfully,  "I  am  delighted  to  see  you!" 
Lilli  turned  red.  The  youngest  fraulein  bit  her  lip. 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  69 

Kittenheim  could  hardly  believe  his  eyesight. 
An  angry  color  flamed  into  his  face ;  his  eyes  narrowed. 
He  could  barely  conceal  his  astonishment  and  chagrin. 
This  was  profanation! 

Marya  Judwiga  seated  herself,  her  head  held  stiffly 
lest  a  strand  of  her  hair  escape  from  its  unaccustomed 
coiffure,  her  hands  folded  in  her  plaid  lap,  her  train 
wrapped  like  a  cat's  tail  about  her  feet.  If  she  as- 
tonished her  guests,  they  astonished  her  even  more. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  saw  pampered, 
beloved  young  womanhood.  Their  clothes  of  delicate 
colors  and  fine  texture  had  been  designed  to  enhance 
their  beauty;  their  hands  were  white  and  soft,  their 
hair  a  marvel  of  shining  care,  their  feet  covered  with 
the  most  entrancing  of  fine  shoes.  Between  their 
dainty  modern  frocks  and  the  dress  she  herself  was 
wearing  was  so  glaring  a  contrast  that  of  a  sudden 
the  wonderful  plaid,  with  its  frills  and  loops,  appeared 
in  its  true  colors  of  an  antiquated  garment,  in  which 
she  was  ridiculous  and  absurd.  Ignorant  as  she  was 
of  fashion,  she  was  too  quick-witted  not  to  recognize 
the  truth,  and  a  sick  qualm  assailed  her. 

The  angry  eyes  of  Rittenheim  looked  at  her 
with  something  of  shame,  as  though  she  had  betrayed 
not  only  herself  but  him  to  ridicule.  The  amused 
glance  of  Margarete  had  in  it  something  she  had  not 
heretofore  encountered  in  the  human  eye ;  and  this 
fortunate  Margarete  was  so  lovely,  too !  Marya  Jad- 
wiga  thought  that  were  the  case  reversed,  she  had  been 
less  unkindly  amused.  The  fraulein  Lilli  was  de- 
mure: Marya  Jadwiga  had  seen  her  cat  Vasily  look 


70  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

like  that  when  he  had  caught  and  eaten  one  of  the 
newly  hatched  chickens.  The  youngest  fraulein,  her 
handkerchief  pressed  to  her  lips,  her  eyes  suffused, 
her  face  red,  shook  with  suppressed  laughter. 

A  faint  pink  sprang  into  Marya  Jadwiga's  pale 
cheeks,  and  into  her  eyes  leaped  a  silvery  sparkle. 
Her  lips  came  together,  her  head  went  up  with  young 
hauteur.  Shame,  pain,  rage,  the  feminine  horror  of 
presenting  a  ridiculous  appearance  swept  her  like  an 
invisible  flame.  The  Zuleski  pride,  a  noble  pride, 
came  to  her  rescue.  When  she  met  her  father's  eyes, 
she  saw  this  pride  in  them,  too,  like  a  flag  waved  to 
her. 

She  had  presently  to  offer  her  visitors  tea.  A 
coarse  white  cloth  was  spread  upon  the  table.  The 
spoons  were  pewter,  the  forks  had  iron  prongs,  the 
knives  were  iron-hafted.  At  the  head  of  the  table 
sat  the  incredible  figure  in  its  grandmother's  frock. 
Facing  her  was  the  threadbare  old  scholar  who 
was  a  nobleman  with  sixteen  quarterings  to  his  back 
and  a  great  reputation,  affably  discussing  with  the 
baroness  the  merits  of  a  new  German  novelist. 

The  guests  drank  scalding  Russian  tea  out  of  glasses 
like  jam-pots  for  thickness,  the  while  Count  Florian 
talked  as  great  and  witty  gentlemen  used  to  talk  in 
the  salons  of  great  ladies.  Rittenheim  listened  in 
silence.  He  would  have  liked  to  call  Count  Florian 
out  and  blow  his  mad  old  head  off,  or  with  fierce 
hands  to  seize  his  old  yellow  throat  and  strangle  him. 
Who,  in  the  name  of  all  the  devils,  had  prompted, 
aided,  allowed  that  child  so  to  disfigure  herself,  al- 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  71 

most  beyond  recognition?  Why  had  not  the  old  lu- 
natic insisted  that  she  wear  her  everyday  dress,  in 
which  she  shone  like  a  rare  jewel  in  a  plain  setting? 
With  black  murder  in  his  heart,  the  baron  listened 
to  Zuleski's  brilliant  conversation.  He  avoided  the 
maliciously  amused  eyes  of  Margarete,  the  mischie- 
vous smile  of  Lilli.  He  looked  at  Marya  Jadwiga  as 
little  as  he  could.  Good  God !  and  he  had  been  al- 
most maudlin  in  his  praise  of  the  girl! 

Of  a  sudden  out  spoke  Bettine,  who  was  eating 
bread  and  jam  with  relish: 

"The  Herr  Baron  says  you  have  a  big  yellow  cat 
named  Vasily,  that  can  talk.  I've  never  known  a  cat 
named  Vasily,  or  one  that  could  talk.  I  wish  to 
see  yours.  Will  you  show  him  to  me,  please  ? ' '  The 
youngest  fraulein,  tired  of  elders  who  talked  over 
her  uncomprehending  head,  was  mischievously  de- 
sirous of  getting  this  laughingstock  of  a  girl  to  her- 
self for  a  while. 

"My  cat's  name  is  Vasily,  but  he  doesn't  talk — 
not  actually,"  said  Marya  Jadwiga. 

"And  the  Herr  Baron  says  you  have  geese  and 
ducks  that  talk,  too,  like  the  girls  in  fairy  stories! 
I  wish  to  see  your  geese  and  your  cat.  Please  show 
me  your  geese  and  your  cat,"  insisted  the  spoiled 
Bettine. 

Marya  Jadwiga  rose  dutifully,  holding  up  her  skirts 
as  best  she  might,  and  in  the  high-heeled  slippers 
that  were  trying  to  fall  off  shuffled  out  into  the  court- 
yard. Out  there  in  the  fresh  air  she  drew  a  sigh  of 
relief — and  then  caught  sight  of  the  grinning  red 


72  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

faces  of  the  Rosen  grooms,  whom  only  respect 
for  their  places  kept  from  guffawing  aloud.  They 
stretched  their  eyes  and  their  necks.  Presently  they 
would  stretch  their  tongues,  so  that  at  mere  mention 
of  the  Countess  Marya  Jadwiga  Zuleska  folk  would 
laugh.  The  youngest  f  raulein  shot  at  them  a  haughty 
and  cold  glance  and  made  an  imperious  gesture  which 
reduced  them  to  instant  order.  But  Marya  Jadwiga 
had  seen,  and  she  knew.  The  faint  pink  again 
mounted  to  her  cheeks.  Pitying  Virgin!  would  this 
afternoon  of  torture  never  end  ? 

She  whistled,  and  big,  red-golden  Vasily  came 
bounding  at  the  call.  The  huge  and  beautiful  cat 
arched  his  back  and  rubbed  his  sleek  fur  against  her 
shoulder  as  she  leaned  on  the  wall.  When  she  whistled 
softly — Marya  Jadwiga  could  whistle  like  any  bird — 
he  purred,  and  made  plaintive,  throaty  noises  in  re- 
sponse. Bettine  laughed  delightedly.  She  looked 
at  the  girl  critically  and  not  unkindly. 

' '  I  like  you  much  better  out  here  than  I  did  in  the 
house,"  said  she,  with  awful  directness,  "The  Herr 
Baron  said  you  wore  a  kerchief  on  your  head  and 
looked  like  the  king's  daughter  in  it.  I  wanted  to 
see  a  countess  wearing  a  head-kerchief  and  a  frock  like 
a  peasant's — like  the  girls  that  have  wicked  step- 
mothers and  live  in  houses  in  the  wood,  you  know.  I 
think  I  should  like  you  like  that.  I  do  not  like  you 
at  all  in  the  dress  you  are  wearing.  Where  in  the 
world  did  you  get  it?" 

"It  was  my  grandmother's,"  Marya  Jadwiga  ex- 
plained. 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  73 

"Good  Heavens!"  cried  Bettine,  with  round  eyes. 
"Who  ever  heard  of  wearing  one's  grandmother's 
dress!  I  wish  you  hadn't.  Now  Margarete  will 
laugh  at  the  Herr  Baron,  and  Lilli  will  tease  him,  and 
Mamma  will  try  to  be  charitable  ! ' ' 

"It  is  not  a  nice  dress,  then?"  faltered  Marya  Jad- 
wiga,  her  pride  forsaking  her  for  the  moment. 

Bettine  burst  out  laughing. 

"Heavens,  no!  It  is  frightful!  You  look  like  a 
— a  masquerader  in  it — when  one  dresses  up  to  be 
funny,  you  know.  Now  you  will  think,"  she  added 
hastily,  "that  I  am  rude.  They  always  say  one  is 
rude  when  one  tells  the  truth.  At  home,  when  I  say 
Margarete  is  selfish  and  lazy  and  Lilli  is  sly,  they 
scold,  and  say  I  am  rude.  Well,  I  may  be,  but  they 
are  exactly  what  I  say  they  are ;  so  there !  And  you 
mustn't  wear  that  dreadful  dress  any  more.  It 
makes  people  laugh  only  to  look  at  you.  You  should 
have  worn  the  dress  you  always  wear.  The  Herr 
Baron  says  you  are  charming  in  it.  He  is  furious 
because  you  didn't  have  it  on  this  afternoon.  He 
was  sure  you  would." 

' '  But  what  is  that  to  him  ? ' '  asked  Marya  Jadwiga, 
trembling  with  wounded  pride  and  sick  shame. 

Again  the  youngest  fraulein  laughed.  Tossing 
her  fair  braids,  she  pointed  a  derisive  finger. 

"Silly!"  said  she.  "Silly!  It  is  because  he  is 
smitten  with  you.  I  know!  Perhaps  if  you  were 
older  and  had  better  clothes,  and  money,  you  might 
have  him  for  a  lover.  Ho !  There  will  be  a  laugh 
on  the  Herr  Baron !  I  shall  laugh  at  Margarete,  too. 


74  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

That  will  make  her  angry.  She  would  like  him  to 
be  smitten  with  her.  She  was  very  glad  you  looked 
such  a  fright  this  afternoon." 

Marya  Jadwiga  turned  very  white.  Wind  roared 
in  her  ears.  'She  said  in  a  choking  voice : 

"You  are  rude,  unpardonably  rude." 

"That  's  what  I  always  get  for  telling  people  the 
truth!"  cried  Bettine.  "Why  should  people  get 
angry  when  one  tells  them  the  truth?  You  are  as 
bad  as  they  are  at  home !  I  shall  not  like  you  at  all 
if  you  say  cross  things  to  me ! " 

Marya  Jadwiga 's  feathered  flock  had  gathered 
around  her,  as  they  always  did  when  she  came  into 
•he  courtyard,  and,  with  neck-stretchings  and  flappings 
of  wings,  and  shrill  cacklings  and  duckings,  besought 
her  attention.  They  diverted  Bettine 's  thoughts. 
She  screamed  with  laughter,  and  clapped  her  hands. 
Upon  which  the  biggest  of  all  the  ganders,  scenting 
her  for  an  outsider  and  an  interloper,  suddenly  seized 
a  fold  of  her  frock  in  his  strong  bill  and  tugged. 
Another,  swooping  down  upon  her,  swept  a  heavy 
wing  across  her  knees.  The  geese  screamed  and 
hissed;  their  long,  swaying  necks,  flat  heads,  and 
beady  eyes  resembled  snakes.  A  large  drake  came  to 
the  aid  of  the  attacking  ganders,  and  catching  the 
hem  of  her  frock  hung  on  grimly,  beating  his  wings 
again  her  legs. 

' '  Run  them  away  from  me !  Make  them  go  away ! 
I  am  afraid  of  them!"  screamed  Bettine,  above  the 
deafening  clamor  of  the  fowls.  She  tried  to  get  be- 
hind Marya  Jadwiga  for  protection,  and  in  doing  so 


75 

pushed  Vasily,  an  interested  spectator,  from  his  place 
on  the  wall.  The  cat  was  not  used  to  strangers, 
either.  He  opened  his  big  mouth  and  spat,  shot  out 
a  long  paw  armed  with  scythe-like  talons,  and  in 
going  over  the  wall  raked  the  fraulein's  shoulder.  It 
was  a  hearty  rake,  for  Vasily  was  striving  to  maintain 
his  balance.  The  little  fraulein  shrieked  with  pain 
and  rage.  Her  screams  brought  out  the  baroness  on 
the  run,  with  Margarete  and  Lilli  and  the  two  gentle- 
men following. 

"Oh,  why  ever  did  I  come  here?"  cried  Bettine, 
piercingly.  "Lilli  is  right:  your  father  is  an  old 
wizard  who  makes  bad  spells  for  people.  And  you  are 
a  horrid  thing !  I  don 't  like  your  nasty  geese ;  they  've 
pulled  my  dress  out  of  shape,  and  beaten  me  with  their 
wings !  And  oh,  oh,  oh !  look  what  your  beast  of  a  cat 
has  done  to  my  shoulder !  He  has  clawed  me  to 
the  bone !  Papa  will  make  you  sell  your  geese,  and  I 
will  have  one  of  the  grooms  shoot  your  vile  cat! 
0-oh,  oh,  oh!" 

"My  darling  child!  my  dearest  little  girl!  what- 
ever is  the  matter?"  cried  the  baroness,  running  to 
her,  panting  in  her  tight  corset.  "Bettine,  what 
is  the  matter?" 

' '  She  is  horrid,  and  her  geese  are  horrider,  and  her 
cat  is  horridest  of  all ! "  Bettine  shrieked.  ' '  Oh,  let  's 
go  home  at  once,  Mamma!  Look  at  my  shoulder: 
it  's  clawed  to  the  bone ! "  A  few  drops  of  blood  had 
appeared  on  her  white  frock. 

"She  was  frightened  by  the  geese,"  Marya  Jad- 
wiga  explained.  "They  hissed  at  her  because  they 


76  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

don't  know  her.  Old  Brown  wing  pulled  at  her  frock, 
and  in  her  fright  she  pushed  Vasily  off  the  wall,  and 
he  scratched  her  as  he  went  over.  I  am  very,  very 
sorry. ' ' 

"Hush,  Bettine!  Stop  that  shrieking  at  once,  for 
mercy's  sake!"  said  Margarete.  "There  is  nothing 
at  all  the  matter  with  her,  Mamma,  except  a  slight 
scratch;  she  often  gets  worse  from  the  cats  at  home. 
Why  do  you  encourage  such  behavior?  You  should 
leave  her  at  home  with  a  nurse!" 

"She  did  it  on  purpose,  Mamma!  She  made  her 
old  cat  scratch  me  because  she  was  mad  at  me," 
bawled  Bettine.  ' '  I  only  told  her  she  looked  a  fright 
in  that  frock — it  was  her  grandmother's  dress,  Mam. 
ma ! — and  that  the  Herr  Baron  was  furious  about  it, 
because  he  is  smitten  with  her,  and  wanted  to  show  her 
off  to  us — and  that  Margarete  would  laugh  at  him 
now — and  she  made  her  nasty  old  geese  scream  and 
pull  at  me,  and  her  cat  scratched  my  shoulder  pur- 
posely!— to  the  bone!" 

"He  might  have  scratched  your  tongue  to  the 
roots,  for  all  of  me!"  said  Lilli,  angrily.  "Mamma, 
you  have  simply  got  to  do  something  about  Bettine. 
She  is  unendurable.  I  shall  have  a  talk  with  Papa 
the  minute  we  get  home,  I  promise  you!" 

"I  recommend  boarding-school,"  said  Margarete, 
and  she  looked  at  Bettine  with  eyes  that  boded  no 
good  to  that  young  lady. 

' '  I  am  so  sorry ! ' '  murmured  the  poor  baroness,  who 
had  turned  scarlet.  "She  is  very  young.  She  is 
my  baby,  and  perhaps  I  am  over-lenient.  Indeed,  I 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  77 

am  sorry  she  was  so  rude ! ' '  And  she  looked  at  Marya 
Jadwiga  beseechingly. 

"She  is  more  frightened  than  hurt,"  said  Marya 
Jadwiga,  quietly.  "I  'm  sorry  my  geese  and  my  cat 
misbehaved." 

"I  'm  not,"  said  Lilli,  dryly.  "I  'm  sure  she  got 
exactly  what  she  deserved." 

"And  we  have  so  enjoyed  our  visit.  We  hope  you 
will  permit  us  to  see  more  of  you,  to  make  your  better 
acquaintance.  I  have  to  implore  the  count  to  come  out 
of  his  seclusion  and  bring  you  to  see  us,"  said  the 
baroness,  handsomely.  She  was  a  kind  woman. 

Zuleski  bowed,  and  Marya  Jadwiga  made  a  grave 
inclination  of  the  head.  Pale  and  proud  and  steady- 
eyed,  she  gave  no  sign  of  the  agony  she  was  enduring. 
Rittenheim,  standing  a  little  apart,  watched  her 
keenly,  and  of  a  sudden  his  admiration  was  stronger, 
even,  than  his  chagrin.  Unwittingly  he  had  betrayed 
her  to  the  mocking  smiles  of  these  worldlier  young 
women ;  but  neither  of  them  could  have  carried  off  this 
impossible  situation  as  she  was  carrying  it  off.  The 
falcon  spirit  of  her  won  him.  Under  his  veneer  of  a 
fashionable  young  man  and  budding  statesman  he  was 
very  truly  a  gentleman  and  he  had  something  left  of  a 
heart;  he  understood  her  humiliation  and  her  pride. 
The  Zuleski  breed  was  the  finer  of  the  two,  he  decided, 
looking  from  her  to  cool,  exquisitely  gowned  Mar- 
garete.  At  parting  he  looked  into  her  unwavering 
eyes  with  something  in  his  own  which  brought  a  faint 
tinge  to  her  cheek. 

It  was  a  subdued  party  which  drove  away,  and 


78  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

a  tragic  Marya  Jadwiga  who  watched  them  go. 
She  went  upstairs  and  took  off  the  plaid  silk  she 
had  been  so  proud  to  put  on,  folded  it  carefully,  placed 
the  satin  slippers  and  silk  stockings  in  their  box, 
and  locked  the  doors  upon  these  things  that  had  be- 
trayed her. 

Then,  with  the  key  in  her  hand,  she  sank  upon  the 
floor,  in  her  own  old,  worn  dress,  and  outraged  pride 
and  heartburning  shame  overcame  her.  Stormily, 
with  choking  sobs  and  sick  shudders,  she  wept.  Re- 
membrance of  Bettine's  words  made  her  turn  hot  and 
cold ;  waves  of  fire  and  of  ice  alternately  passed  over 
her.  Every  look  of  those  wonderfully  dressed  girls, 
the  astonished  eyes  of  the  baron,  the  laughter  of 
Bettine,  were  etched  upon  her  consciousness  as  with  a 
burning  pencil.  She  was  not  angry  with  the  baron, 
who  had  brought  them  here :  how  could  he  have  fore- 
seen that  her  stupidity,  her  ignorance,  would  entrap 
her  thus  horribly?  She  did  not  dream  of  blaming 
her  father:  how  could  he  know,  either?  But  some- 
thing was  wrong  with  her  world,  when  such  a  thing 
as  this  could  happen. 

It  grew  dark  in  the  room.  And,  as  she  crouched 
there,  a  hand  fell  upon  her  shoulder.  Her  father 
stood  beside  her,  looking  down  at  her. 

"Now  you  have  learned  what  they  are,"  he  said  in 
his  low,  quiet  voice,  which  had  the  power  to  send  little 
prickly  sensations  over  one,  and  to  make  one's  heart 
flutter.  "These  are  of  the  breed  which  has  helped 
ruin  us.  They  beggar  us,  and  our  poverty  is  their 


THE  EYES  OF  UNDINE  79 

power — and  their  jest.  As  they  have  treated  you, 
they  have  treated  Poland.  Remember  it!" 

She  made  no  articulate  reply.  She  did  not  even 
try  to  clasp  his  fingers  for  comfort.  He  said,  after  a 
short  pause : 

"There  is  a  thing  left  us  to  do:  we  must  remove 
them.  Yes,  we  must  remove  them ! ' ' 

She  looked  up  with  wet  and  reddened  eyes,  and 
twisted  her  soaked  handkerchief  in  her  hands. 

"There  is  one  thing  I  should  like  to  do  before — 
before  they  go,"  said  she,  with  quivering  lips. 

"And  that  is—"     He  waited. 

"I  want  to  dress  like  them,"  said  Marya  Jadwiga, 
and  began  to  cry  afresh. 

Count  Florian  tiptoed  out  of  the  room  and  closed 
the  door  ever  so  gently  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FLIGHT 

THERE  was  no  moon,  but  the  expanse  of  the 
sky  was  so  thick  with  stars  that  one  might 
have  thought  the  night  had  powdered  her 
vast  dark  face  with  diamond  dust. 

Marya  Jadwiga  awoke  with  a  start;  she  lay  still 
for  a  moment,  confusedly  wondering  if  she  had 
dreamed  that  some  one  had  called  her  by  name.  Then 
her  father's  voice  sounded,  close  by  her  bedside: 

"  Dress  quickly, — put  on  your  shawl, — and  come  to 
me  in  the  library,  without  noise."  She  could  hear 
him  closing  her  door  behind  him  with  inconceivable 
gentleness. 

Wondering  greatly,  still  somewhat  confused,  she 
dressed  with  quick,  deft  fingers.  Outside  her  room 
the  silence  and  secrecy  of  the  great  ruined  house 
seemed  to  wait  palpably,  a  live  force  crouching  there 
in  the  dark.  Her  heart  was  hammering  when  she 
reached  the  library. 

Her  father  sat  in  his  usual  place,  facing  his  desk, 
his  skullcap  on  his  head,  his  dressing-gown  buttoned 
to  his  throat,  just  as  he  had  always  sat  since  she  could 
remember  anything  in  this  world.  He  appeared  paler 
and  thinner,  perhaps,  but  his  composure  was  unruf- 

80 


FLIGHT  81 

fled.  Mary  a  Jadwiga  paused  just  inside  the  door, 
blinking  at  the  light  after  the  blackness  of  the  pas- 
sages; then  her  eyes  widened.  Seated  near  the  fire- 
place, a  dark  cloak  about  his  shoulders,  a  dark  hat  on 
his  white  head,  his  hands  on  the  knobbed  head  of  the 
stick  between  his  knees,  was  Wenceslaus.  Beside 
him — dark,  unlovely  save  for  the  eyes,  which  were 
now  brilliant  and  intelligent — was  "Wincenty  the 
gipsy.  Both  men  seemed  dressed  and  waiting  as 
though  about  to  set  out  upon  a  journey. 

Her  glance  went  from  them  to  her  father, — a  ques- 
tioning, innocent,  appealing  glance,  childishly  trust- 
ful,— and,  as  he  met  it,  the  old  fanatic 's  head  drooped, 
and  his  hands  clasped  themselves  together  with  a 
convulsive  movement.  In  that  big,  still  room,  quiet 
as  only  a  room  in  a  lonely  country  house  can  be  in 
the  dead  of  night,  the  little  clock  on  his  desk  ticked 
with  a  loud  and  unconcerned  busyness.  Vaguely 
alarmed,  the  young  girl  drew  near  and  timidly  placed 
her  hand  on  her  father's  shoulder. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  she  faltered.  "What 
is  it?" 

"For  you  and  me,  parting — final  parting,"  said 
the  count.  And  his  indomitable  will  reasserted  itself. 
His  head  went  up,  his  crest  rose,  his  eyes  flashed  like 
an  aroused  old  eagle's,  as  he  looked  at  the  last  nest- 
ling of  his  race.  He  drew  the  young  girl  to  his 
breast,  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  for  the  first  and  last 
time  kissed  her  fatherly. 

Marya  Jadwiga  trembled,  and  clung  to  his  arm, 
sensing  that  she  was  losing  her  father  in  this  moment 


82  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

of  finding  him ;  and  in  that  brief  moment  she  felt  for 
him  all  the  agony  of  tenderness  dormant  in  her  wild 
little  heart.  Tears  came  to  her  eyes;  she  began  to 
stammer : 

"Are  you  sending  me  away?  Don't  send  me  away 
from  you  and  home!  Don't  send  me  away!" 

Wenceslaus  turned  his  head  aside,  his  brown  cheeks 
wet.  "Wincenty  the  gipsy  stood  and  looked  on  with 
his  brilliant  and  as  it  were  uncovered  eyes. 

"You  would  not  be  safe  here,"  said  her  father. 
' '  That  is  why  I  send  you  now.  Wenceslaus  goes  with 
you." 

"But  you,"  faltered  the  bewildered  girl.  "But 
you —  Ah!  Why  should  I  go,  and  you  remain?" 

"I  shall  probably  not  remain  here  very  long  myself, 
my  dear,"  said  Florian  Zuleski,  with  his  unexpected, 
beautiful  smile.  "And  you  must  not  be  here  alone 
when  I  go."  He  added,  looking  at  her  with  melan- 
choly intentness:  "I  thought  to  have  played  the 
game  differently,  but  I  bow  to  the  inevitable.  And 
so  you  must  go.  You  will  be  a  stranger  in  a  strange 
land,  but  there  you  will  complete  my  task. ' ' 

He  put  her  aside,  gently,  inevitably,  and  held  up  a 
long  finger  in  the  old  imperative  gesture  that  called 
her  to  instant  attention.  Taking  from  his  breast  a 
small,  flat  package,  he  placed  it  in  her  hands.  There 
was  that  in  his  manner,  in  his  intense,  almost  fierce 
regard,  which  made  her  apprehensive.  The  air  of  the 
room  seemed  oppressive. 

"There  are  inside  this  cover  three  separate  sealed 
packages,"  he  told  her.  "Now,  that  which  pertains 


FLIGHT  83 

to  the  Bear  you  will  deliver  to  the  Eagle;  and  that 
which  pertains  to  the  Eagle,  you  will  give  to  the 
Bear.  The  third  package,  which  covers  both — and 
more ! — you  will  place  in  the  hands  of  a  yellow  man. 
The  yellow  man  will  give  you,  as  a  countersign,  the 
name  of  my  father,  Casimir  Zuleski,  who  died  in 
Siberia  under  the  knout.  The  white  men  will  say  to 
you,  as  I  now,  'Serajevo!'  ' 

"Serajevo."     She  repeated  it  without  shuddering. 

"You  will  receive  in  return  a  great  deal  of  money, 
which  you  will  place  in  the  bank  until  you  receive 
further  instructions,"  he  continued.  "Your  ar- 
rival will  be  watched  for.  Until  you  hear  from  the 
yellow  man  my  father's  name,  and  from  the  white 
men  that  word  'Serajevo,'  you  will  hold  this  package 
dear  as  your  life.  Ah,  if  you  hear,  over  there, 
my  father 's  name,  I  shall  not  have  lived  and  toiled  in 
vain ! ' ' 

"But  why  not  here?"  she  asked  fearfully. 

"Impossible!  Czadowska  has  long  suspected  me. 
I  am  too  closely  watched.  Also,  Rittenheim  is  no 
fool!  One  slip,  one  false  move,  and  the  work  of 
years  would  be  destroyed,  the  Brotherhood  dismayed, 
perhaps  disrupted.  No,  the  time  has  come  for  you — 
you  whom  I  have  trained — to  act  for  me. ' '  He  added, 
after  a  pause,  "For  Poland!" 

By  way  of  answer  she  slipped  the  package  into  her 
young  bosom. 

'"Wericeslaus  and  Wincenty  have  instructions," 
said  the  count.  ' '  You  will  be  provided  for,  en  route. 
Go,  then,  my  child!" 


84  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

She  was  so  small,  so  young,  so  childish,  that  his 
heart  of  a  fanatic  was  wrung  with  pure  compunction. 
He  sought  to  imbue  her  with  something  of  his  own 
quenchless  ardor  and  passion,  and  the  inward  flame 
that  consumed  him  seemed  for  a  moment  to  glow 
visibly  through  his  wasted  flesh.  The  look  of  a 
great  hierophant  before  the  holy  of  holies  of  his  god 
was  upon  the  man. 

"  You  carry  in  the  stream  of  your  blood,  the  fashion 
of  your  spirit,  all  the  men  and  women  of  our  house 
who  have  gone  before  you.  They  were  men  and 
women  who,  when  they  were  called  upon  to  pay  for 
the  faith  that  was  in  them,  paid — in  full.  They  were 
Zuleski!  Remember  us,  Marya  Jadwiga!  And  re- 
member— my  father's  name!" 

"I  will  remember,"  said  the  young  girl,  simply. 

They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes.  Then  the 
father  smiled,  the  sweet  and  remote  smile  of  one  who 
has  paid,  who  has  finished  and  done  with  all.  He  did 
not  kiss  her  again.  Perhaps  he  dared  not;  perhaps 
even  his  iron  will  might  have  crumpled,  his  high 
heart  broken,  had  he  touched  her;  he  might  have  re- 
membered that  he  was  a  father  before  he  was  a  pa- 
triot. Instead,  he  walked  over  to  the  old  mantel,  and 
touched  the  gay  little  griffin.  The  side  panel  swung 
open. 

"Wenceslaus — "  He  stopped  then,  and  looked  the 
old  man  in  his  honest  and  kind  eyes.  "Brother," 
said  the  count,  "you  have  in  your  charge  the  last  child 
of  our  house." 

At  that  Wenceslaus  caught  the  other's  hand  and 


FLIGHT  85 

held  it  to  his  breast ;  he  gave  back  the  piercing  glance, 
with  a  look  of  sweeter  import. 

"My  life  belongs  to  you  and  her,"  he  said 
simply. 

"Wmcenty  made  a  beckoning  gesture,  and  stepped 
through  the  opening.  Wenceslaus,  with  a  look  of 
despair,  obeyed.  At  a  nod  from  her  father,  Marya 
Jadwiga  followed.  Turning  her  head  for  a  last  look, 
she  saw  him  standing,  tall  and  pale,  outlined  by  the 
lamplight,  his  eyes  full  of  agony  and  courage. 

"Bywaj!"  he  whispered.  "Bywaj!"  and  stretched 
out  his  hand.  The  panel  swung  shut. 

This  was  his  one  chance,  and  he  had  taken  it.  He 
knew  to-night  that  he  had  been  betrayed,  and  was  in 
instant  danger  of  arrest.  There  was  but  one  thing  to 
do,  and  Zuleski  did  it :  he  moved  the  only  pawn  that 
could  possibly  checkmate  his  enemies  and  save  the 
game. 

"Sans  'bruit!"  said  the  count  to  himself.  "Sans 
bruit!"  At  that,  smiling  grimly,  he  straightened  his 
shoulders,  went  back  to  his  desk,  and  set  himself  reso- 
lutely to  work  upon  "The  Gipsies  in  Europe."  He 
had  the  creative  worker's  terror  that  something  might 
happen  before  he  finished  the  manuscript.  He  ran, 
as  it  were,  a  handicap  against  Czadowska  and  Death. 
Dawn  caught  him  still  at  his  labors. 

Wenceslaus  and  latterly  Marya  Jadwiga  had 
brought  his  coffee;  this  morning  he  made  it  for  him- 
self, over  a  spirit  lamp.  Then  he  went  over  and  sat 
down  near  a  window,  and  with  tired  eyes  looked  out 
upon  the  morning.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  early 


86  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

sunlight  shone  coldly  and  stilly,  that  about  him  hung 
that  ominous  silence  which  invests  a  place  when  death 
has  occurred,  where  something  tragic  has  happened. 
"But  what  can  happen  now  to  me,  who  am  a  blown 
egg,  an  empty  shell?  They  will  never  find  her: 
Wincenty  will  see  to  that.  Let  what  will  happen, 
happen. ' '  And  he  stretched  his  long,  thin  body  wea- 
riedly.  He  felt  immensely  old,  and  alone,  and  sad. 
The  burden  of  being  alive,  "the  weary  weight  of  this 
unintelligible  world,"  oppressed  him.  Presently  he 
slept. 

Outside,  the  bright  and  windy  day  grew  apace.  In 
the  courtyard  her  feathered  flock  vainly  waited  for 
Marya  Jadwiga  to  come  and  feed  them.  At  about 
nine  o  'clock  there  came  to  the  door  the  woman  Josika, 
a  look  of  perplexity  and  uneasiness  replacing  her 
usual  smile.  She  stood  for  some  time  in  the  door- 
way ;  and  presently  went  back  to  her  kitchen,  frowning. 

"And  I  have  n't  seen  that  old  fool,  Wenceslaus,  this 
morning  either.  Now,  what  on  earth —  Her  un- 
easiness deepened  into  alarm.  Half  an  hour  later 
she  stole  upstairs  and  stood  outside  Marya  Jadwiga 's 
door,  listening.  Then  she  rapped,  waited  a  minute, 
and  ventured  to  enter.  There  was  the  empty  bed,  the 
coverings  tossed  aside.  The  windows  were  open. 
Sunlight  made  patches  on  the  bare  floor. 

Josika  ran  out  of  the  room,  and  sped  to  that  of 
Wenceslaus.  The  lamp  burned  before  the  ikon  of  the 
Virgin.  The  old  man's  gun  stood  in  a  corner;  a  bat- 
tered cap  and  a  pair  of  worn  high  boots  were  on  the 


FLIGHT  87 

floor  near  by.     His  bed  had  not  been  slept  in  at  all. 

Josika  stood  pinching  her  lip.  After  a  moment  she 
turned  toward  the  library.  She  was  never  able  to 
overcome  a  certain  timidity  in  approaching  Count 
Florian.  Whenever  she  met  the  straight  glance  of  his 
luminous  and  penetrating  eyes,  she  experienced  a  dis- 
agreeable sense  not  only  of  fear  but  of  inferiority. 
To  destroy  him  and  his  daughter;  to  see  them  in  the 
dust,  perhaps  in  prison ! — what  happiness ! 

With  a  fluttering  heart  she  stood  outside  the  library 
door.  Suppose,  suppose  he  should  be  gone,  too. 
Panic  seized  her,  and  she  knocked.  After  a  moment's 
pause,  the  count's  voice  bade  her  enter.  He  was  ly- 
ing on  a  couch,  a  shawl  thrown  over  his  feet. 

"Ah!  it  is  you!"  he  said  indifferently.  Then, 
turning  his  head  upon  the  cushion,  he  regarded  her 
thoughtfully.  "What  do  you  want?"  he  asked. 

"The  young  lady  has  not  come  to  her  breakfast. 
I  cannot  find  her  anywhere.  And  Wenceslaus  is  not 
here,  either." 

The  count  said  equably : 

"No?    Well,  get  me  some  tea." 

He  knew,  then.  But  where,  when,  with  whom  had 
they  gone  ?  She  remembered,  with  anger,  Czadowska 
and  von  Kittenheim.  How  should  she  make  them 
understand  that  this  could  have  happened  and  she 
be  unaware?  She  could  fancy  Czadowska 's  eyes  nar- 
rowing and  his  smile  widening. 

"Will  they  be  back  to-day,  panie?  I — there  have 
been  no  orders — about  what  one  must  cook."  With 
shaking  fingers  she  twisted  her  apron,  trying  to 


88  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

question  this  terrible  old  man,  of  whom  she  felt  even 
a  greater  fear  than  of  Czadowska.  One  knew  that  the 
Russian  was  one  to  be  reckoned  with ;  but  he  was,  at 
least,  human. 

1  'Perhaps  yes.  Perhaps  no,"  replied  the  count, 
still  watching  her  with  those  penetrating  and  ironical 
eyes.  "As  to  orders,  cook  what  you  usually  cook. 
And  do  not  concern  yourself  with  anything  else." 

"Tak,  panie,"  said  she,  helplessly. 

Outside,  in  the  corridor,  her  fists  clenched,  her  eyes 
flashed.  But  when  she  presently  brought  him  tea,  she 
waited  upon  him  with  respect.  She  asked  no  more 
questions,  and  he  volunteered  no  information.  When 
he  returned  to  his  couch  she  spread  his  shawl  over 
his  feet,  and  he  thanked  her  courteously,  and  with  a 
gesture  bade  her  leave  him. 

Josika  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  and  took  her  head 
in  her  fists.  Those  two  had  gone  while  she  slept. 
The  count  had  sent  them  away.  Why?  How? 
Where  ?  Did  he  suspect  that  she — that  Czadowska— 
Well,  but  if  he  knew  that,  why  remain  here,  himself  ? 
To  whom  had  he  entrusted  the  girl?  Who  had  come 
for  old  Wenceslaus  ? 

She  recalled  to  mind  every  face  she  had  seen  in 
that  house.  Who  had  been  there  of  late?  And  she 
remembered  that  she  had  seen  Wincenty  the  gipsy. 
It  was  a  vague  and  uncertain  guess,  at  best ;  nothing 
definite  to  base  suspicion  on.  But  at  least  this 
guess  would  give  her  something  to  say  to  Czadowska 
and  the  German.  In  the  midst  of  her  discomfiture  a 


FLIGHT  89 

malicious  smile  curved  her  lip  when  she  reflected 
upon  the  baron.     Presently,  after  long  deliberation, 
she  decided  to  notify  them.     She  had  to  trust  to  luck 
as  to  how  the  letters  could  be  conveyed. 
To  Rittenheim  she  wrote: 

HONORED  FREIHERB: 

When  you  were  last  here  you  said  you  might  procure  me 
another  situation,  and  I  think  I  shall  have  to  leave  here, 
as  the  young  lady  and  the  old  man  W'enceslaus  have  gone, 
I  do  not  know  where,  and  I  find  this  place  very  lonely,  and 
wish  to  change.  There  is  no  one  in  the  house  now  but  the 
count,  and  he  appears  ill,  and  I  am  afraid.  If  you  could  se- 
cure me  a  place  with  some  good  family,  I  should  be  very 
grateful. 

Your  humble  servant, 
JOSIKA. 

She  reread  this  several  times,  smiling  spitefully. 

Her  smile  faded  when  she  began  upon  the  other 
letter.  She  was  far  more  afraid  of  Czadowska  than 
of  Rittenheim.  Czadowska 's  smile  was  like  a  knife 
at  one's  throat.  Her  hand  shook  as  she  wrote: 

M.  CZADOWSKA: 

I  am  alone  here  with  the  count,  who  I  am  sure  is  ill,  and 
I  am  afraid.  I  think  he  will  die  some  night.  The  young 
lady  and  the  old  man  Wenceslaus  are  away,  and  I  would 
esteem  it  a  great  favor  and  you  would  please  your  name 
saint,  if  you  would  stop  by  and  advise  me  what  I  could  do 
for  the  count  in  case  of  sudden  illness.  You  are  a  learned 
man,  and  you  would  know. 

Your  humble  servant, 
JOSIKA. 


90  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

She  read  this  carefully,  and  added: 

If  you  should  see  Sergei  my  brother,  please  tell  him  to 
come  to  see  me.  He  has  not  been  to  see  me  for  a  long  time. 

This  was,  she  felt  sure,  a  perfectly  safe  and  even 
kind  letter,  a  letter  that  no  one,  not  even  Count  Flo- 
rian,  could  find  fault  with.  While  she  was  reflect- 
ing upon  this,  a  call  came  from  the  courtyard. 
She  put  both  letters  on  the  kitchen  table,  placed  the 
ink  bottle  upon  them  as  a  paperweight,  and  went  out 
to  answer  the  hail,  glad  to  have  an  opportunity  to 
talk  to  somebody. 

The  caller  was  a  peddler,  a  yellow  man  with  blue- 
black  hair  and  slanting  eyes.  He  greeted  Josika  with 
gentle  politeness,  and  was  observant  of  her  greedy 
eyes  upon  his  pack.  Would  the  handsome  lady  like  to 
see  his  wares?  The  handsome  lady  asked  for  noth- 
ing better,  and  bent  upon  obliging  her  the  man 
opened  his  pack.  Josika  fingered  laces  and  ribbons, 
hair  combs  and  toilet  articles,  inexpensive  but  pretty 
jewelry,  and  cloth  of  excellent  weave  and  design. 
A  bright  color  flowed  into  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes 
sparkled.  The  peddler  selected  a  pair  of  drop  ear- 
rings, greenish  blue,  imitating  turquoise,  and  held 
them  up  alluringly. 

"These  are  what  you  should  have,"  he  told  her. 
"They  match  your  eyes,  and  make  your  skin  fairer." 
He  named  a  price  much  above  their  value. 

A  profound  disappointment  showed  itself  in  her 
countenance.  That  was  more  than  she  could  pay. 
She  looked  covetously  at  the  earrings. 


FLIGHT  91 

"Not  so?  That  is  a  great  pity.  They  will  never 
look  so  well  on  anybody  else."  The  peddler  seemed 
to  hesitate. 

"If  I  could  sell  to  the  noble  count  a  dress  for  the 
young  lady  his  daughter,  such  as  he  promised  to  buy 
of  me  when  I  was  here  last,  perhaps  we  could  make  up 
the  difference:  I  could  then  let  you  have  the  ear- 
rings at  a  low  price."  He  laid  his  finger  to  his 
lips,  and  looked  at  her  with  a  sly  and  knowing 
smile. 

Josika  could  have  beaten  Marya  Jadwiga  with  rods. 
She  said  angrily: 

"But  she  is  not  here!     She  has  gone  away!" 

"So?  Then  I  shall  have  to  wait  for  that  promised 
sale,  until  she  returns.  But  the  old  man — I  forget 
his  name — told  me  to  bring  him  light-weight  socks, 
also  a  knitted  vest,  and  some  thread.  "Will  you  call 
him  ?  You  may  then  still  earn  you  earrings. ' ' 

"He,  too,  has  gone  away,"  said  Josika,  almost  in 
despair. 

"But  he  told  me  to  bring  the  things,  and  I  have 
brought  them.  Now  I  shall  have  to  carry  them  about 
with  me,  and  perhaps  fail  to  sell  them  to  anybody 
else, ' '  protested  the  peddler.  And  he  asked  anxiously, 
"When  does  he  return?" 

"I  don't  know,"  admitted  Josika,  sullenly. 

"Perhaps  if  I  could  see  the  noble  count,  he  would 
take  the  goods  and  pay  for  them,  for  his  servant," 
said  the  peddler.  "And  I  will  also  ask  him  about  the 
dress  he  was  to  buy  for  the  young  lady.  Go  and  ask 
the  honorable  master  if  he  will  graciously  see  me," 


92  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

coaxed  the  peddler,  "and  you  may  get  your  earrings 
cheaper  yet." 

Josika  looked  at  the  blue  baubles  again,  before  she 
could  make  up  her  mind.  She  went  upstairs  unwill- 
ingly. The  count  was  still  lying  on  the  couch  near 
the  window,  but  he  was  not  sleeping.  "When  she  had 
stated  her  errand,  he  told  her,  briefly,  to  show  the  man 
up.  In  her  relief  she  almost  danced  down  the  stairs. 

' '  You  are  to  go  up, ' '  she  cried.     ' '  He  will  see  you. ' ' 

Deftly  the  peddler  extracted  certain  parcels  from 
his  pack. 

"I  can  find  my  way  upstairs,"  he  said.  "Maybe 
you  would  like  to  look  over  my  wares  while  I  am  with 
the  count  ?  Perhaps  you  will  find  something  else  you 
want."  And  he  left  her  happily  fingering  a  fringed 
blue  silk  scarf. 

And  while  she  sat  out  there  in  the  sunlight,  bliss- 
fully oblivious  of  everything  but  the  stuffs  spread  be- 
fore her,  a  dusty,  red-bearded  man  approached  the 
place  from  the  rear,  entered  the  kitchen  noiselessly, 
sat  down  by  the  table,  removed  his  hat,  and  stretched 
his  legs.  Then  he  spied  the  letters,  and  deliberately 
read  them;  read  them  twice.  His  florid  face  paled. 
He  replaced  his  hat  on  his  head,  and,  as  noiselessly 
as  he  had  entered,  he  departed.  When  he  reached  the 
gipsies'  old  camping-ground  in  the  hollow,  near  the 
ruined  chapel,  he  flung  himself  on  the  good  green 
grass,  and  with  his  hands  under  his  head  gave  him- 
self up  to  thought. 

When  the  peddler  came  downstairs,  Josika  got  the 


FLIGHT  93 

blue  earrings  for  much  less  than  she  had  expected  to 
pay  for  them.  He  might  as  well  have  given  her  them 
outright,  he  said  good-humoredly,  shouldering  his 
pack. 

' '  He  took  the  things  you  brought,  then  ? ' '  she  asked 
eagerly.  In  that  case  Marya  Jadwiga  and  Wences- 
laus  would  be  returning  soon. 

' '  The  honorable  gentleman  always  keeps  his  word, ' ' 
said  the  peddler  respectfully,  and  took  himself  off. 

Happy  in  the  possession  of  the  blue  earrings,  Jo- 
sika  took  a  more  cheerful  view  of  the  situation.  She 
supposed  they  were  coming  back  presently.  But  one 
could  not  be  quite  sure.  She  had  better  get  those 
letters  off,  anyhow.  Rittenheim  and  Czadowska 
would  think  none  the  worse  of  her  for  keeping  them 
posted.  She  addressed  and  sealed  the  letters.  It 
was  to  be  observed  that  the  one  intended  for  Czadow- 
ska was  addressed  to  Madame  Sophia  Samorov. 

Later  in  the  day  a  groom  of  the  Rosens'  rode 
by,  and  Josika  hailed  him.  Would  he — she  smiled  at 
him  very  sweetly — would  he  be  so  kind  as  to  get 
a  letter  to  the  noble  Baron  von  Rittenheim  for 
her,  about  a  promised  situation,  and  also  one  to  her 
dear  friend  Sophia  Samorov?  The  blue  earrings 
really  made  Josika 's  skin  look  whiter,  her  eyes  more 
blue.  The  groom  grinned  malefully,  and  carried  off 
the  letters,  in  his  pocket.  Josika  went  about  her 
business,  humming  a  little  tune.  Everything  would 
be  all  right. 

The  hours  dragged.  The  usual  light  burned  all 
night  in  the  library,  where  Florian  Zuleski  whipped 


94  TWO  SHALL  BE  BOKN 

his  failing  powers  to  perform  the  task  of  finishing  the 
history  of  the  Gipsies  in  Europe.  At  times  the  hand 
that  held  the  pen  failed  him ;  he  forgot  the  gipsies  as 
his  heart  and  his  mind  tried  to  follow  one  of  them 
with  whom  went  little  Marya  Jadwiga  and  old 
Wenceslaus.  Where  were  they  to-night?  Once  in 
England,  they  would  be  comparatively  safe.  That 
Josika  was  a  spy  in  his  house,  that  she  had  betrayed 
him  and  would  do  so  again,  he  knew.  She  would 
manage  to  send  Czadowska  word  of  Marya  Jadwiga's 
departure,  he  did  not  doubt.  But  some  days  must 
necessarily  elapse  before  the  Russian  received  her 
message,  and  Zuleski  counted  upon  that  delay  to  give 
the  fugitives  a  good  start.  Yes,  yes,  he  would  hope — 
and  work. 

At  times,  too  tired  to  think  clearly,  he  fell  into  a 
profound  and  deathlike  slumber.  He  hardly  touched 
the  food  Josika  brought  him.  She,  in  the  meanwhile, 
saw  her  golden  opportunity,  and  searched  frantically. 
Nothing  escaped  her  ruthless  prying.  Since  Marya 
Jadwiga's  departure  the  count  had  not  occupied  his 
own  room,  but  had  slept  upon  a  couch  in  the  library. 
Josika  searched  his  bedchamber,  with  the  thoroughness 
of  a  burglar  and  the  cunning  of  a  spy,  but  found  noth- 
ing in  that  hermit's  cell.  She  was  disgusted.  "Old 
fool!"  she  grumbled.  Wenceslaus 's  room  was  quite 
as  bare.  So  was  Marya  Jadwiga's. 

The  afternoon  of  the  seventh  day  after  the  girl's 
departure  Czadowska  appeared.  The  count  was 
asleep ;  and  so  trancelike  and  profound  was  his  repose 
that  he  did  not  hear  Josika 's  discreet  tap.  After  a 


FLIGHT  95 

moment's  pause,  Czadowska  entered  and  stood  look- 
ing down  at  the  unconscious  old  man.  There  was 
something  majestic  in  Zuleski's  aspect — in  the  fine, 
bold  contour  of  the  head,  the  high  forehead,  the  strong 
and  delicate  outline  of  the  aquiline  nose,  sharp  as  the 
curve  of  a  sword.  Czadowska  saw,  too,  the  old  man's 
infinite  weariness.  Silently  the  Russian  withdrew, 
taking  the  hovering  Josika  with  him. 

He  questioned  the  woman  as  only  Czadowska  could 
question.  Upon  receipt  of  her  letter  he  had  had  a 
search  set  upon  foot,  but  the  two  he  sought  had  van- 
ished. Nobody  seemed  to  have  seen  them. 

Josika  prepared  a  meal  for  him,  for  he  had  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  remaining  overnight;  there 
was  no  occasion  as  yet,  for  acquainting  Count  Florian 
with  his  presence  in  the  house.  While  he  ate,  twi- 
light melted  into  darkness.  Stars  came  out.  White 
moths  fluttered,  and  there  arose  from  the  earth  the 
odor  of  growing  things  with  fresh  dew  upon  them. 
Across  the  fields  little  lights  twinkled  in  village 
houses;  they  were  far  away,  and  resembled  fireflies. 
The  quiet  of  a  solitary  place  brooded  upon  the  ruined 
house. 

Czadowska  felt  and  liked  it;  and  he  saw  that  Jo- 
sika feared  it.  He  watched  her  as  she  waited  upon 
him.  There  was  unusual  color  in  her  cheeks,  and  he 
noticed  how  fair  her  skin  was,  and  what  fine  hair  she 
had. 

"It  occurs  to  me  I  rather  like  you,  Josika,"  he 
remarked,  lightly. 

Josika  looked  at  him  with  virtuous  displeasure. 


96 

"But  I  do,  you  big,  cold  woman,"  said  Czadowska, 
laughing.  And  he  added:  "You  should  wear  a  blue 
dress,  my  dear,  to  match  those  blue  earrings.  You 
would  look  well  in  a  blue  dress,  Josika ! ' ' 

"Blue  is  my  color,"  she  said.  "It  is  a  good  color. 
The  very  holy  Virgin  Mother  of  God  wears  blue  in 
her  picture,  Semyon  Semyon'itch,"  said  Josika,  seri- 
ously. 

"Yet  I  think  you  will  earn  a  blue  dress,  Josika," 
said  he. 

' '  I  should  like  to.  But  it  must  be  honestly  earned. ' ' 
Josika  spoke  with  dignity. 

"Doubtless,  my  saint,  you  will  earn  it  honestly!"  he 
agreed.  "Therefore  tell  me  honestly  all  you  know 
about  that  fine  brother  of  youra. " 

And  while  he  drank  glass  after  glass  of  boiling 
tea,  Josika  told  him  honestly  several  things  she  knew 
about  her  dear  Sergei.  When  she  had  done,  Czadow- 
ska gave  her  ten  rubles. 

"In  part  payment  on  the  blue  dress,"  he  told  her, 
with  humor  that  went  over  her  head.  And  dismiss- 
ing Sergei's  affairs  he  went  back  to  the  subject  of 
Zuleski  and  his  daughter;  not  forgetting  Wincenty 
the  gipsy.  He  praised  her  shrewdness  in  salvaging 
and  turning  over  to  himself  some  of  those  dried  roots 
and  stems  which  Wincenty  brought  the  count.  "That 
was  clever  work,  and  started  us  on  the  right  track; 
gave  us  something  to  lay  hold  on.  I  was  always  sure 
something  was  wrong  with  Count  Florian,"  said 
Czadowska.  "And  it  is  a  good  guess  about  Wincenty. 
When  I  catch  him  and  the  girl,  you  shall  have  your 


FLIGHT  97 

blue  dress,  Josika — and  maybe  more."  And  he 
laughed  again. 

"What  will  you  do  to  her?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"That  depends,  my  saint,"  said  Czadowska.  He 
added  ambiguously:  "She  is  a  pretty  little  thing; 
a  very  pretty  little  thing — like  a  little  soft  wild  ani- 
mal one  might  catch.  And  you  think  the  German 
fancies  her?  Perhaps  she  has  gone  to  him?"  But 
he  knew  better.  Josika  shook  her  head. 

"No,"  she  said.  "Wenceslaus  is  with  her.  If 
the  German  looked  at  her  too  hard,  that  old  fool 
would  fly  at  his  throat  and  try  to  strangle  him  with 
his  hands." 

"Count  Florian  is  a  very  clever  man,"  mused 
Czadowska.  "And  a  woman  is  a  baited  trap.  It  is 
quite  possible — "  He  stopped  short,  and  said  briskly : 
"Now  show  me  where  I  am  to  sleep.  I  must  be  off 
before  daylight.  I  '11  be  hack  within  the  week. 
Report  to  me  then  anything  that  happens  in  my  ab- 
sence." The  two  left  the  kitchen. 

The  red-bearded  man  crouching  among  the  goose- 
berry bushes  outside  the  kitchen  window  stole  along 
the  shadow  of  the  walls,  reached  the  tree-shaded 
footpath  by  the  little  creek,  and  vanished.  Although 
it  was  a  cool  night,  perspiration  stood  upon  his  fore- 
head, and  he  breathed  as  though  he  had  been  running. 
He  kept  muttering  as  he  fled :  "0  very  holy  Virgin 
Mother  of  God,  she  wishes  to  wear  a  blue  dress  like 
unto  thine !  0  very  merciful  Redeemer  of  the  World, 
my  sister  Josika  wishes  to  wear  a  blue  dress  like 
unto  Thy  very  holy  Mother 's ! " 


CHAPTER  V 

BLUE  EARRINGS 

JOSIKA  had  very  little   to  do,  these  days,  for 
Zuleski  required  almost  no  attention.     Daily  his 
wants  seemed  to  shrink  to  an  ever  finer  vanish- 
ing point.    The  woman,  devoid  of  sympathy  and  of 
imagination,  would  have  left  him  to  his  fate,  except 
that  Czadowska  had  told  her  to  remain ;  and  also  be- 
cause  of  her   stubborn  notion  that  by  seizing   this 
opportunity  to   pursue   her   search  unmolested   she 
would  stumble  upon  some  of  that  gold  she  was  so  sure 
he  had  hidden  away. 

On  a  certain  morning,  being  in  one  of  the  lower 
rooms  in  the  most  ruinous  part  of  the  house,  she 
thought  she  saw  the  figure  of  a  man  flash  by  what 
had  once  been  a  window.  Not  wishing  to  be  discov- 
ered, the  woman  crouched  low,  waiting;  after  a  few 
moments  she  stole  cautiously  to  the  opening  and 
peered  out.  The  little  brook  made  a  pleasant  noise; 
the  trees  swayed  in  the  wind.  Nobody  was  in  sight. 
She  had  been  mistaken,  she  thought,  and  turned 
away.  And  at  that  moment  it  seemed  to  her  that 
she  heard  footfalls;  faint,  hollow,  ghostly  footfalls, 
as  though  echoing  from  a  burial  vault.  Something, 
somebody — walking,  invisible,  near  by. 

98 


BLUE  EARRINGS  99 

Of  a  sudden  Fear  invaded  the  place  and  it  was  as 
though  cyie  heard  it  walking  there.  She  went  back 
to  her  kitchen,  and  the  everyday  pots  and  pans  had 
a  reassuring  effect.  She  shrugged  her  shoulders  at 
herself.  Ghosts?  She  would  like  to  see  the  ghost 
that  could  frighten  her  from  her  search !  But  at  the 
same  time  she  thought  she  would  hunt  in  some  of  the 
more  habitable  portions  of  the  house;  say  the  locked 
room  next  the  library — the  room  from  which  Marya 
Jadwiga  had  procured  that  plaid  silk  frock.  Per- 
haps in  that  room  Zuleski  kept  more  than  his  wife's 
old  dresses.  She  had  fallen  heir,  in  her  days  with 
Sergei,  to  a  bunch  of  curious  keys.  She  had  no  fear  of 
being  unable  to  open  doors. 

For  so  large  a  woman  she  was  extraordinarily  light- 
footed.  She  stole  upstairs  noiselessly,  and  the  old 
lock  yielded  to  one  of  her  keys.  The  dusty  room  had  a 
stale  and  musty  odor;  dust  scintillated  in  the  beam 
of  light  which  fell  across  the  bare  floor. 

Contemptuous  of  the  things  the  old  wardrobe  con- 
tained, she  pushed  most  of  them  aside.  The  white 
silk  stockings  might  be  useful,  and  she  put  those  in 
her  pocket.  And  the  heavy  gold  locket  and  chain  and 
brooch — one  might  sell  them,  at  a  pinch.  She  liked, 
too,  a  petticoat  with  a  wonderful  hand-embroidered 
frill.  She  stood  there  fingering  it.  She  had  an  odd, 
real  liking  for  such  fine  things  as  this. 

While  she  stood  thus,  somebody  walked  across  the 
library  floor,  with  a  quick,  resilient  tread.  Josika 
had  the  hearing  of  a  lynx.  Like  a  big  cat  she  flat- 
tened herself  against  the  wall  and  inch  by  inch  moved 


100  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

to  the  locked  door  between  the  two  rooms,  a  door  sunk 
deeply  into  the  thick  walls.  Stooping,  she  applied 
her  eye  to  the  keyhole.  Part  of  the  library  came  into 
view — an  edge  of  window,  a  corner  of  the  count 's  desk, 
the  count  himself,  standing  with  his  hand  on  the  back 
of  his  chair.  Before  him  stood  a  shabby  figure. 
Josika  sucked  in  her  breath.  Wincenty  the  gypsy 
was  facing  Zuleski.  She  could  not  hear  what  they 
were  saying ;  only  the  murmur  of  their  voices  reached 
her.  When  the  gipsy  ceased  speaking,  the  count  held 
out  his  hand,  and  Josika  sneered  to  see  the  gipsy  bend 
and  kiss  it.  Then  both  men  seated  themselves,  and  the 
low-toned  conversation  was  continued. 

Josika  thought  it  better  to  beat  a  retreat.  Ten  min- 
utes later  she  was  out  in  the  courtyard,  a  pleasing 
and  innocent  enough  picture,  with  her  fair  head  bent 
over  her  knitting-needles.  An  hour  passed.  Win- 
centy the  gipsy  failed  to  make  his  appearance.  He 
had  not  been  sent  down  to  the  kitchen. 

Far  down  the  road  a  horseman  appeared.  Josika, 
pausing  in  her  knitting,  watched  him  speculatively. 
It  might  be  one  of  the  Rosen  grooms — perhaps 
the  one  who  had  mailed  her  letters  and  who  had,  of 
late,  twice  or  thrice  managed  to  ride  by,  broadly 
ogling  the  good-looking  woman.  But  as  the  rider 
drew  nearer  she  recognized  the  paladin-like  Rit- 
tenheim.  Hatred  and  an  unwilling  admiration 
stirred  in  her  heart  as  she  looked  at  him. 

"Has  she  come  back?"  he  demanded  as  he  dis- 
mounted. ' '  Where  did  she  go  f  Have  you  discovered 


BLUE  EARRINGS  101 

when  she  is  coming  back  ? ' '  And  he  asked :  ' '  Where 
is  the  count?  Has  he  said  anything?" 

"The  count  sleeps  almost  all  the  time,  since  the 
gracious  young  lady  went  away,"  said  Josika,  mod- 
estly and  respectfully.  "It  does  not  look  like  the 
right  sort  of  sleep.  Monsieur  Czadowska  thinks  the 
count  is  in  a  bad  way." 

"Czadowska  has  been  here,  then?"  The  baron 
spoke  sharply. 

"Semyon  Semyonovitch  comes  and  goes,  Herr 
Baron.  And  he  is  disturbed  about  the  count's 
health." 

"So?  Well— I  will  see  Count  Florian,  myself," 
said  Rittenheim,  in  a  hard  voice. 

"If  the  Herr  Baron  will  go  upstairs  with  as  little 
noise  as  possible?"  suggested  Josika.  "He  is  an  old 
man,  and  in  such  frail  health.  "I  will  show  the 
Herr  Baron  up,  if  he  wishes." 

' '  Very  well, ' '  and  he  followed  her  upstairs,  walking 
delicately.  She  tapped  ever  so  gently,  turning  the 
knob._  The  door  was  locked,  and  she  had  to  knock 
louder.  After  a  moment  the  count  could  be  heard 
getting  up  from  his  desk;  his  chair  scraped  impa- 
tiently. The  appearance  of  the  German  on  his  thresh- 
old did  not  appear  to  surprise  him.  He  greeted  his 
visitor  with  his  usual  stately  urbanity.  Josika  looked 
around  eagerly.  There  was  no  sign  of  Wincenty. 

Something  of  the  Fear  that  she  had  heard  walking 
audibly  in  the  ruined  room  that  morning,  touched  her. 
Where  was  the  gipsy  ?  He  had  not  came  downstairs : 
she  would  have  seen  him.  He  must  be  somewhere 


102  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

in  the  house  now.  But  where?  She  knew  that  Cza- 
dowska  and  his  terrible  secret  police  were  hunting 
him.  How  had  the  gipsy  managed  to  get  here  undis- 
covered ? 

"What  should  she  do  now  ?  She  did  not  understand 
German,  and  the  count,  in  honor  of  his  visitor,  always 
spoke  that  visitor's  language:  it  was  useless  for  her 
to  listen  at  the  keyhole.  So,  very  tranquilly,  she 
returned  to  the  courtyard  and  resumed  her  knitting. 
And  presently  the  needles  stopped  flashing  in  the 
sun.  Her  mouth  fell  open.  As  though  he  had  been 
summoned  by  her  thoughts,  Czadowska  suddenly 
stood  before  her. 

' '  They  have  good  vodka,  back  there, ' '  said  he,  nod- 
ding toward  the  distant  village.  "And  I  have  really 
enjoyed  my  walk  through  the  fields.  A  fine  day! 
Well — and  how  far  have  you  gotten  with  the  blue 
dress,  Josika?"  He  was  looking  casually  at  the 
baron's  big  horse,  cropping  the  grass  sprouting  be- 
tween the  broken  stones. 

"The  Baron  von  Rittenheim  visits  the  master," 
said  she.  "On  his  way  to  the  von  Rosen  estate  he 
stops  to  pay  his  respects.  He  will  be  furious  when 
he  finds  that  the  gracious  young  lady  has  gone  away 
without  bidding  him  good-by!"  And  as  Czadowska 
looked  at  her  intently,  she  added  naively : 

"They  always  speak  together  in  German,  Semyon 
Semyon'itch.  I  never  could  understand  a  word  of 
it." 

At  that  Czadowska  grinned.     And  she  asked: 

"Have  you  found  the  gipsy?" 


BLUE  EARRINGS  103 

"Not  yet,"  said  he,  quietly.  He  was  always  hor- 
ribly sure,  was  Czadowska. 

' '  She  did  not  go  with  the  gipsy,  then  ?  You  do  not 
want  the  gipsy  ? ' ' 

He  pinched  her  cheek,  smiling  in  his  black  beard. 
She  fingered  her  blue  earrings. 

"Semyon  Semyon 'itch,  what  would  you  give  me 
if  I  told  you  something  you  might  want  to  hear  ? ' ' 

"I  think  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  tell  me 
anything  you  think  I  might  wish  to  hear,  without  bar- 
gaining over  payments,  my  woman!"  And  of  a 
sudden  he  thrust  his  face,  with  its  eyes  slitted  and  its 
mouth  a  straight  line,  closer  to  hers.  "What  is  it  you 
have  found  out?"  demanded  Czadowska. 

' '  The  gipsy  is  here.  I  saw  him  in  the  library,  talk- 
ing with  the  count,  about  an  hour  ago.  I  think  he 
must  have  brought  some  news." 

"Quite  so,"  said  the  Russian.  And  he  wore  his 
usual  smile.  ' '  You  get  your  blue  dress,  my  dear  little 
dove.  I  think  you  will  get  trimmings  with  it,  if  you 
can  so  manage  it  that  I  hear  what  Zuleski  and  Rit- 
tenheim  say  to  each  other  in  German — which  of 
course  you  don't  understand." 

' '  I  could  let  you  into  the  room  where  the  wardrobe 
is,"  she  reflected.  "You  can  see  thro,ugh  the  key- 
hole, but  I  don't  know  whether  you  can  hear  through 
it.  Not  unless  the  baron  speaks  louder  than  Win- 
centy  does." 

"Tell  me  exactly  where  that  room  is,  and  how  to 
reach  it." 

Josika  gave  instructions,  and  resumed  her  knitting. 


104  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

The  color  did  not  change  in  her  round  cheeks,  nor 
did  her  heart  skip  a  beat.  She  smiled,  counting  her 
stitches.  She  was  thinking  how  well  she  would  look 
in  a  blue  dress,  and  whether  she  had  not  better  keep 
it  to  wear  in  that  America  to  which  she  meant  to  go 
very  soon. 

Czadowska  had  no  difficulty  in  letting  himself  into 
the  room  next  the  library.  And  Rittenheim's  voice 
was  much  louder  than  Wincenty's,  for  the  blond 
overlord  was  angry.  Czadowska  could  see  Zuleski 
seated,  his  thin  hands  on  his  kriees.  The  baron 
walked  up  and  down  impatiently.  At  times  he 
switched  his  riding-boots  with  his  crop. 

The  baron  raised  his  voice : 

"I  have  already  told  you  we  will  sign  a  blank 
check!" 

The  count's  low  reply  was  unintelligible.  But  the 
German  caught  him  up: 

"Deal  with  me  here  and  now,  Zuleski.  Dangerous ? 
Suspected  ?  But  we  are  not  without  power,  my  dear 
Count!" 

Zuleski  seemed  to  have  laid  down  some  proposition 
and  to  be  resisting  and  refusing  any  change  in  it. 
But  he  spoke  in  so  low  a  tone  that  Czadowska,  curs- 
ing the  thickness  of  door  and  walls,  caught  only  the 
words,  "...  my  daughter  .  .  .  better  plan." 

Rittenheim  plainly  disapproved.  He  argued.  The 
count  remained  immovable. 

The  German  presently  seated  himself.  He  said 
coldly : 


BLUE  EARRINGS  105 

"I  still  think  she  should  have  been  spared.  But 
since  you  have  taken  this  course,  and  insist  upon  it, 
there  is  nothing  to  do  but  fall  in  with  your  proposals. 
Perhaps  your  plan  may  not  prove  as  unreasonable 
as  would  appear.  We  desire  to  possess — what  you 
agree  to  let  us  have.  I  do  not  deny  that.  So — 
we'll  take  the  necessary  steps." 

Czadowska  reflected  that,  whatever  the  count  was  to 
have  given  Rittenheim,  the  latter  had  not  as  yet 
received  the  goods.  That  it  must  be  of  tremendous 
importance,  of  vital  importance,  he  could  not  dou«bt ; 
Zuleski  had  been  offered  his  own  price.  The  first 
thing  to  do,  therefore,  was  to  lay  hold  upon  Marya 
Jadwiga,  through  the  gipsy  Wincenty,  for  Czadowska 
had  learned  that  Josika's  shrewd  guess  was  right. 
The  gipsy  had  really  accompanied  the  girl  and  the 
old  man.  A  peasant,  on  his  way  to  the  fields  in  the 
early  morning,  had  seen  a  cart  in  which  were  two  men 
and  a  woman,  and  he  had  recognized  one  of  the  men 
as  Wincenty;  that  is,  he  thought  he  recognized  the 
gipsy.  He  would  not  swear  to  it,  though.  That 
much  Czadowska  had  learned.  But  here  the  clue,  if 
clue  it  was,  ended.  As  though  the  earth  had  opened 
and  swallowed  them,  those  three  had  disappeared. 
Yet  the  stalker  of  men  was  not  unduly  troubled. 
He  had  found  many,  many  lost  ones,  in  his  time. 
Yes,  he  must  lay  hands  on  the  gipsy. 

Chairs  scraped  in  the  library.  Rittenheim  had 
risen. 

' '  There  is  nothing  more  to  be  said,  then, ' '  the  baron 


106  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

was  repeating  in  a  hard  voice.  "I  accede.  But  I 
wish  I  had  known — sooner.  I  confess  I  do  not  like 
this  at  all." 

The  count  spread  out  his  hands  by  way  of  reply. 

"I  will  ride  over  to-morrow,"  said  the  baron.  And 
he  bowed  formally,  his  heels  clicking  together.  When 
he  had  seen  his  guest  depart,  Zuleski  shrugged,  smiled 
to  himself,  and,  picking  up  his  pen,  calmly  resumed 
his  labors.  Czadowska  watched  him  with  a  real  ad- 
miration. 

' '  These  Poles ! "  he  thought.  ' '  What  a  man,  what  a 
man!" 

When  he  greeted  the  count  the  next  forenoon, 
Rittenheim  had  had  time  to  conquer  any  irritation  he 
may  have  felt.  One  humors  a  madman,  you  under- 
stand! He  had  made  but  a  flying  visit  to  the 
Rosens,  he  explained,  and  was  on  his  way  home.  How 
was  the  count  this  morning?  Had  he  had  a  good 
night?  And  was  he  feeling  better?  Hollow-eyed, 
chalk-faced,  the  Pole  assured  his  visitor  that  his  health 
was  excellent,  save  for  a  slight  fatigue  incident  to  his 
age  and  his  sedentary  labors. 

Rittenheim  made  no  further  attempt  to  change 
his  host's  plans,  whatever  they  were.  He  placed  upon 
the  desk  a  package,  which  Zuleski  received  casually 
and  without  a  trace  of  shame,  paid  a  few  polite  compli- 
ments, and  took  himself  off.  He  knew  that  already  the 
wheels  had  begun  to  grind;  that  headquarters,  on  re- 
ceipt of  his  coded  message,  had  begun  to  act. 

Rittenheim  had  been  gone  perhaps  an  hour  when 


BLUE  EARRINGS  107 

Czadowska  was  admitted.  The  Russian's  nostrils 
were  slightly  dilated,  as  at  the  near  scent  of  prey. 
He  took  the  chair  offered  him.  Then  abruptly : 

"Where  is  Wincenty  the  gipsy,  Count?" 

' '  Wincenty  ?  I  don 't  know. ' '  The  count  still  held 
his  pen. 

"But  he  was  here  yesterday." 

"  'The   wind   bloweth   where   it   listeth:   and   no 
man  knoweth  the  coming  nor  the  going  thereof,'  ' 
quoted    the    count,    indifferently.     "You    must    ask 
the  wind  for  the  whereabouts  of  a  gipsy." 

"Must  I  ask  the  wind  for  the  whereabouts  of  your 
daughter?  And  your  servant  Wenceslaus?"  He 
leaned  forward  and  asked  imperiously,  "Where  is 
your  daughter?" 

Zuleski's  crest  rose  at  the  tone.  With  the  pride  of 
a  nobleman  he  looked  at  the  police  agent. 

"The  Countess  Marya  Jadwiga  is — with  friends." 

His  calm  and  luminous  glance  mocked  Czadowska, 
and  aroused  the  Russian's  anger. 

"Who  are  those  friends?" 

"You  do  not  know  them,  Monsieur  Czadowska." 

Czadowska  leaned  forward. 

"The  game  is  up,  Pan  Florian.  /  know,"  said  he, 
sharply.  "I  know  why  you  sent  the  girl  away.  I 
know  what  she  carried  with  her." 

Zuleski  threw  back  his  head. 

"Oh,  no,  you  don't,  Czadowska!"  he  cried,  with 
steely  triumph.  "Oh,  no,  Czadowska,  you  don't 
know !  No,t  yet — not  yet. ' '  Laughter  seized  upon 
him  like  a  sickness.  It  went  over  him  in  waves. 


108  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  ill,"  said  Czadowska,  watch- 
ing him  with  slitted  eyes;  "so  ill  that  it  is  un- 
safe for  you  to  remain  here  unattended.  You  must 
be  looked  after  more  carefully.  I  feel  this  so  strongly 
that  I  shall  look  after  you  myself.  We  will  leave 
here  this  afternoon. ' '  And  he  added,  with  a  dreadful 
smile,  "Perhaps  some  of  the  money  you  received 
from  the  noble  Baron  von  Rittenheim,  this  morning, 
might  be  used  to  defray  your  expenses." 

"My  expenses  will  be  quite  light,  Czadowska.  I 
shall  not  trouble  you  very  long."  The  count  spoke 
almost  gaily.  Perhaps  it  was  a  relief  to  him  that 
the  game  was  played  to  a  finish  at  last. 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  the  Russian,  with 
grim  ambiguity.  "In  the  meantime  I  arrest  you, 
Florian  Zuleski — spy,  traitor,  anarchist ! — in  the  name 
of  the  Tsar!" 

Florian  Sigismund  Casimir,  Count  Zuleski,  rose  to 
his  feet  and  drew  himself  to  his  full  height  of  a  very 
tall  man,  his  attenuation  accentuating  it.  The  veins 
on  his  bony  forehead  stood  out  darkly;  his  beard, 
grown  quite  white  of  late,  bristled.  As  he  flung  out 
his  long,  thin  arm,  like  a  scythe,  with  a  sweeping  and 
menacing  gesture,  one  saw  those  brown  discolorations 
on  hands  and  wrist  which  Demonax  on  a  time  called 
"the  tooth-marks  of  the  Ferryman."  The  scholar's 
eyes  were  enlarged,  and  blazed  with  unnatural  luster, 
as  though  they  saw — something.  For  a  moment  he 
stood  thus,  fronting  it;  horror,  terror,  amazement, 
and,  underlying  all,  a  growing,  almost  unbelieving 


BLUE  EARRINGS  109 

exultation,  informed  his  changed  countenance.  Foam 
flecked  his  beard. 

"The  cup  is  full!"  cried  he,  in  a  loud,  high  voice. 
"I  see  One  with  a  plow,  plowing  under  the  nations — 
the  proud,  sinful,  godless  nations!  I  see  One  with  a 
scythe  that  reaps  them.  Fire  and  blood  and  desola- 
tion— I  see,  I  see!  Ravage,  and  the  sound  of  giants 
overthrown!  A  red  and  blazing  sky,  a  black  wing 
overshadowing  it!  Death  reaps!"  And  then,  with 
a  proud  and  agonized  note :  ' '  Poland !  Let  the  cup 
pass  from  her,  God  of  the  just!  Let  the  cup  pass!" 

Stretched  as  it  were  abnormally,  he  rose  sword- 
straight  upon  his  tiptoes  until  his  figure  all  but 
cleared  the  floor.  Then  his  voice  rattled  in  his 
throat ;  he  collapsed  into  his  chair,  slumping  heavily, 
and  stared  at  the  police  agent  with  a  ghastly  intensity. 

That  terrible  stare  frightened  even  the  iron-hearted 
Czadowska.  There  was  in  it  something  he  had  never 
before  encountered  in  a  mortal  gaze — something  awful 
and  unearthly,  that  saw  and  gaged  and  judged  by  im- 
mortal and  absolute  standards.  Czadowska  turned 
pale.  The  count,  without  removing  his  eyes  from 
him,  presently  spoke,  in  a  strange  and  altered  voice, 
low  and  deep,  like  a  bell  tolling  in  the  dark: 

"In  the  evening — when  the  red  flag  flies  in  the 
streets — you  will  die,  Czadowska,  upon  a  housetop. 
Your  world  is  passing.  You  will  pass  with  it.  When 
you  are  hunted  like  a  wild  beast,  when  the  howls  of 
men  in  blouses  are  in  your  ears,  when  the  bullets  of 
muzhiks  pierce  your  lungs,  and  you  topple  and  fall, 


110  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

clawing  with  cracking  fingers  at  the  edge  of  a  roof — 
and  you  go  down,  down — and  down — with  blood  in 
your  throat — and  the  wet,  slippery  pavements  rise  to 
meet  you — and  the  hunters  yell  joyously — remember 
me  in  that  last  moment,  Czadowska !  I  pray  you,  re- 
member Florian  Zuleski!'' 

As  he  spoke  in  that  unearthly  voice,  staring  at  the 
Russian  with  his  fixed  eyes,  the  police  agent  felt 
the  full  horror  of  the  scene  the  old  man  was  evoking. 
He  felt  himself  falling,  felt  the  roof  slipping  from 
his  clawing,  desperate  fingers ;  there  was  in  his  mouth 
the  brackish  taste  of  blood. 

But  even  as  his  stammering  lips  were  vainly  trying 
to  cry  out  a  denial,  Zuleski  clutched  at  his  breast  as 
though  to  ease  his  bursting  heart.  Over  his  counte- 
nance passed  an  expression  of  mortal  anguish.  With 
a  terrific  effort  he  managed  to  sit  erect,  and  his  dying 
eyes  shot  one  last,  proud  glance  at  his  foe,  as  if 
Poland  herself — indomitable,  unconquerable  Poland — 
informed  his  spirit. 

"I  die,"  he  gasped,  "but  Poland— lives !"  The 
light  went  out  of  his  eyes,  like  a  taper  blown  out  in 
a  sudden  gust.  His  head  fell  forward.  A  shiver 
passed  over  him,  as  a  wind  over  water. 

Czadowska  was  inured  to  the  spectacle  of  men  leav- 
ing the  world  abruptly  and  by  various  routes,  some 
praying,  some  with  screams  cut  short,  some  smiling, 
some  cursing,  some  unafraid  and  defiant.  But  con- 
sternation, a  blank  bewilderment  seized  upon  him  as 
he  saw  this  man  depart,  slipping  out  of  his  clutches  as 
though  of  his  own  will  and  choice.  Secretive,  elu- 


BLUE  EARRINGS  111 

sive,  masterful  to  the  last,  Zuleski  chose  his  own  hour 
for  departure,  and  in  his  going  balked  and  flouted  the 
authority  he  repudiated,  and  mocked  the  power  he 
loathed. 

Czadowska  shuddered,  and  wiped  his  forehead, 
upon  which  beads  of  sweat  appeared. 

"What  a  man!  What  a  devil  of  a  man!"  he  mut- 
tered. 

Then,  with  a  great  effort,  the  hard-bitten  agent  of 
secret  police  pulled  himself  together.  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

' '  We  could  n  't  have  gotten  much,  if  anything,  out 
of  you,  anyhow,"  he  ruminated,  staring  down  at  the 
dead  man.  ' '  And  it  vould  have  been  a  waste  of  time 
and  hemp,  to  carry  you  off  and  hang  you. ' ' 

He  wasted  no  time  in  a  search  of  the  library :  what 
evidence  he  needed  was  in  possession  of  Marya  Jad- 
wiga.  He  thrust  into  his  pocket  the  bank  notes 
Rittenheim  had  left ;  it  tickled  his  humor  to  take  the 
German's  money  from  Zuleski,  though  the  cream  of 
the  jest  was  soured,  in  that  Zuleski  did  not  care  now. 

There  was  in  Czadowska 's  nature  a  saturnine  twist, 
in  his  humor  the  touch  of  ferocity.  He  did  not  tell  his 
good  friend  Josika,  who  was  scouring  a  copper  pan  in 
the  kitchen,  of  the  grim  little  tragedy  enacted  up- 
stairs in  the  library.  What  he  did  tell  her  was  that 
she  had  admirable  arms,  and  that  those  blue  earrings 
pleased  him ;  he  tweaked  her  ear  playfully  as  he  spoke, 
and  she  backed  off,  coyly  but  formidably.  Josika 's 
virtue  made  Czadowska  lick  his  lips.  He  chucked 


112  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

her  under  the  chin,  and  grinned  to  see  her  eyes  grow 
green.  Then  he  gave  her  some  bank  notes  to  bring 
her  smiles  back,  told  her  she  was  a  good  girl  and 
should  not  lose  by  it,  and  parted  from  her  pleasantly. 
Half  an  hour  later  he  was  gone.  He  had  to  pick  up 
Marya  Jadwiga's  trail,  and  he  did  not  mean  to  lose 
any  more  time  about  it. 

As  the  count  would  not  need  any  attention  until 
later  in  the  day,  Josika  picked  Marya  Jadwiga  's  room 
clean,  and  went  through  several  other  rooms.  At  the 
regular  hour  she  prepared  for  the  count  the  glass 
of  milk  he  had  been  taking  recently,  and  on  tiptoe 
entered  the  library.  She  wondered  to  see  him  asleep 
in  his  chair.  He  must  be  worse  than  usual.  Then 
something  in  the  helplessness  of  the  head  drooped 
upon  the  breast,  of  the  arms  hanging  so  slack,  ar* 
rested  her.  She  called  to  him,  respectfully. 

He  did  not  move.  Of  a  sudden  Josika  knew  that 
he  would  never  move  any  more,  and  with  a  cry  she 
fled.  She  was  not  a  timid  woman,  but  she  did  not 
relish  the  notion  of  spending  the  night  in  the  house 
with  the  corpse  of  Florian  Zuleski.  She  would  go  to 
the  village,  where  she  could  notify  the  priest. 

Methodically  she  gathered  her  possessions  together, 
tied  them  into  bundles,  and  placed  them  on  a  kitchen 
table.  Such  money  as  she  had,  and  a  certain  neck- 
lace and  brooch,  she  hid  in  her  bosom.  She  would 
better  have  her  supper  here,  she  reflected:  it  was  a 
long  walk  to  the  village,  which  she  would  reach 
shortly  after  dark.  She  made  an  excellent  meal, 


BLUE  EARRINGS  113 

crunching  the  bones  of  a  chicken  she  had  killed  and 
cooked  that  morning,  eating  great  hunks  of  black 
bread,  bolting  salted  cucumbers,  and  winding  up  with 
tea  and  preserves.  She  had  the  appetite  of  a  healthy 
peasant,  the  greed  of  a  rapacious  woman  who  has 
known  what  it  means  to  be  stinted. 

Her  hunger  satisfied,  she  rose,  stretched  herself,  and 
reached  for  her  bundles.  She  was  ready  to  leave  the 
house.  The  large  room  was  flooded  with  the  red  light 
of  sunset,  in  which  the  stone  floor,  the  ordinary  iron 
and  copper  utensils,  the  few  colored  plates,  borrowed  a 
brief  decorativeness.  Then  she  paused,  struck  into 
pale  rigidity.  Racing  footsteps  sounded  in  the  hall, 
some  one  rushed  through  the  door ;  Josika  found  her- 
self confronting  the  red-bearded  face  of  Sergei,  and 
behind  him  appeared  the  swarthy  countenance  of 
Wincenty  the  gipsy. 

Wincenty's  skin  had  upon  it  a  sort  of  sick  grayish- 
ness.  He  leaned  against  the  door-jamb  for  support, 
and  with  staring  eyes  looked  at  tall,  fair  Josika. 

"When  did  the  master — go?"  he  asked  thickly. 

"This  afternoon,"  said  she,  curtly.  The  two  had 
startled  her.  She  wished  she  had  not  waited  for  a 
meal,  but  had  gone  to  the  village  immediately.  She 
regarded  Sergei  spitefully.  Oh,  that  Czadowska  had 
the  pair  of  them! 

"He  has  been  dead  two  or  three  hours,"  said  Ser- 
gei, who  had  once  spent  several  months  in  a  hospital 
as  an  orderly. 

"He  was  dead  when  I  went  upstairs  with  his  milk," 


114  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

said  Josika,  stolidly.  With  a  sort  of  stupefaction 
both  men  regarded  her ;  they  looked  at  the  table,  from 
which  the  dishes  had  not  been  removed. 

"How  long  after  Czadowska  left  was  it  that  you 
went  upstairs?"  asked  Sergei. 

"I  don't  know.  Maybe  an  hour.  What  's  that  to 
you?"  she  asked  rudely. 

"Have  you  earned  enough  to  buy  yourself  a  blue 
dress,  Sister  Josika?"  he  returned. 

"What  's  that  to  you?''  she  repeated  furiously. 
But  she  turned  pale. 

"I  think  a  red  dress  would  be  better  for  you," 
said  'Sergei.  His  nostrils  were  twitching,  and  his 
lips  writhed  back  from  his  teeth.  In  his  eyes  was  a 
redder  gleam  than  could  have  been  caught  from  the 
red  sunset. 

Wincenty  the  gipsy  advanced  a  step.  His  hands 
were  shaking,  and  sweat  ran  down  his  face. 

' '  Why  did  you  betray  him  ? "  he  screamed.  ' '  Devil, 
why  did  you  betray  the  master?"  Of  a  sudden  the 
man  began  to  wail  aloud,  painfully,  making  uncouth' 
and  groaning  noises. 

Josika  turned  from  them  both.  A  cold  and  clammy 
dread  fell  upon  her ;  the  fear  of  death  was  like  dust  in 
her  throat.  On  a  shelf  near  the  door  was  Wences- 
laus's  great  cleaver,  a  large  butcher-knife  with  a 
heavy  handle  and  a  razor-edged,  unusually  broad 
blade.  With  a  furious,  lightning-like  movement  Ser- 
gei seized  the  knife,  and  like  a  tiger  bounded  upon  the 
woman.  Twice  she  flew  around  the  table,  with  the 
man  at  her  heels.  She  had  almost  reached  the  door, 


BLUE  EARRINGS  115 

when  he  lunged  forward  and  made  a  wide,  sweeping 
stroke.  The  broad,  sharp  blade  went  through  bone 
and  sinew.  Josika's  head  seemed  to  fly  from  her 
shoulders.  From  the  severed  neck  a  crimson  jet 
spurted  upward  like  a  fountain,  throwing  an  awful 
spray.  The  headless  trunk  took  a  step  forward,  the 
hands  opening  and  closing  spasmodically.  Then  the 
body  fell  heavily  to  the  stone  floor,  in  the  little  cracks 
and  hollows  of  which  red  pools  gathered.  The  head, 
bounding  forward,  fell  almost  at  Wincenty's  feet. 
The  mouth  had  opened  as  though  upon  a  scream  cut 
off,  and  for  a  frightful  second  the  starting  eyes 
stared  at  the  faces  bent  down  upon  them,  the  eyelids 
twitched,  and  one  saw  the  tongue  move  in  the  open 
mouth.  Then  the  lips  were  drained  of  blood,  swift 
pallor  fell  upon  the  cheeks.  A  dead  head,  with  fair 
hair  sprayed  and  stained,  and  blue  earrings  showing 
against  white  cheeks,  lay  on  the  kitchen  floor. 

It  had  happened  with  such  incredible  swiftness  that 
the  gipsy  had  had  no  time  even  to  cry  aloud.  Gasp- 
ing, he  looked  from  the  face  on  the  floor  to  the  red- 
bearded  face  glaring  down  at  it.  He  felt  sick,  and  at 
the  same  time  his  sense  of  wild  justice  was  satisfied. 

"So  die  all  traitors!"  said  Sergei,  and  shook  the 
cleaver.  He  pushed  the  trunk  with  his  foot.  Dis- 
lodged by  the  movement,  out  of  the  bosom  fell  a  neck- 
lace, and  a  handkerchief  in  which  coins  were  tied. 
They  tinkled  musically  as  they  struck  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  KITE 

BTWAJ!  and  a  closing  door.  A  sense  of  un- 
reality. Prescience  of  finality,  of  the  inevi- 
table, something  crying  out,  "Now  all  that 
you  have  known,  all  that  you  have  loved  is  finished 
and  done  away  with!" 

Ahead  of  Marya  Jadwiga  and  Wenceslaus,  Win- 
centy  showed  a  light,  guiding  them  through  the  intri- 
cate mazes  meandering  ominously  through  the  old 
house.  After  what  seemed  pulseless  hours  he  led 
them  into  the  open,  under  the  starlight,  close  by  the 
little  brook  busy  and  murmurous  in  the  summer 
night.  The  two  men  hurried  down  the  path,  and 
Marya  Jadwiga  followed,  bewildered,  all  but  dazed, 
but  blindly  obedient  to  the  relentless  will  which  had 
sent  her  forth.  In  the  gipsies'  glen  a  cart  was  wait- 
ing. Barely  giving  her  and  Wenceslaus  time  to  be 
seated,  Wincenty  caught  up  the  reins  and  urged  the 
horse  forward. 

Then  began  a  strange  and  wild  life  which  she  looked 
back  upon,  afterward,  as  one  remembers  a  vivid  and 
impossible  dream.  Wincenty  turned  his  charges  over 
to  other  gipsies,  and  these  in  turn  passed  them  on 
to  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people.  Women  as 

116 


THE  KITE  117 

well  as  men  had  them  in  charge,  some  whose  very 
language  was  unknown  to  Marya  Jadwiga.  A  gipsy 
woman  stained  her  milk-white  skin  until  she  was  as 
brown  as  any  peasant  maiden.  Never  was  she  al- 
lowed to  appear  openly.  Thrice  she  was  smuggled 
into  Jewish  households,  and  witnessed  for  the  first 
time  the  real  tenderness  of  domestic  life^  the  lo»ve 
of  parents  and  children,  the  intimacies  of  home. 
Always  the  Jewish  brethren  supplied  her  with  money. 
Old  men  like  prophets  talked  with  her,  old  women  like 
sybils  waited  upon  her.  All  these  Jews  spoke  of  her 
father  with  a  passionate  faith  and  affection,  a  loyalty 
like  adoration.  Zuleski  stood  for  that  inmost  heart  of 
hope  and  faith  of  all  Jews, — Freedom.  The  Jews 
made  her  flight  safe ;  their  cleverness  guarded  and  hid 
and  at  the  same  time  forwarded  her. 

" After  this,"  said' Wenceslaus,  stoutly,  "I  am  will- 
ing to  allow  Jews  to  remain  Jews.  All  I  hope  is  that 
Christians  will  some  day  become  Christian." 

Seeing  how  inexperienced  she  was,  the  women  had 
tried  to  warn  her.  Some  of  the  things  they  said,  she 
understood;  sometimes  she  tried  to,  and  could  not. 
While  she  was  with  the  gipsies,  a  chief's  wife,  dis- 
covering that  she  was  weaponless,  gave  her  a  thin, 
wonderful  old  dagger,  like  a  pretty,  dangerous 
toy. 

"It  has  always  belonged  to  chiefs  and  the  women 
of  chiefs,"  she  said.  ''Keep  it  always  with  you. 
Promise  me  you  will  keep  it  always  with  you.  It  has 
helped  others.  When  the  hour  strikes,  it  will  help 
you,  too,  chief's  daughter.'' 


118  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

Marya  Jadwiga  gave  the  required  promise  more  to 
please  the  woman,  who  had  been  very  kind  to  her, 
than  because  she  thought  she  might  need  the  deadly 
little  gift.  She  hid  it  in  her  bosom,  next  to  the  flat 
package. 

One  morning  at  dawn  they  came  to  a  maritime  city, 
and  here  Marya  Jadwiga  first  saw  ships  and  the  mov' 
ing  world  of  waters.  They  were  hurried  aboard  a 
lugger,  which  immediately  sailed.  They  landed  at  a 
Swedish  port,  and  here  the  flight  was  resumed.  Then 
came  more  tossing  on  the  waters,  and  they  were  in 
England,  where  a  blond  gentleman  who  spoke  their 
own  tongue  took  their  affairs  into  very  competent 
hands.  Marya  Jadwiga 's  deep  and  grave  respect  for 
his  name,  one  of  the  oldest  and  greatest  in  Polish  his- 
tory, touched  him,  coming  from  Florian  Zuleski's 
daughter.  He  treated  her  with  formality  and  father- 
liness.  Her  extreme  youth  had  -been  a  shock  to  him. 

On  his.  second  visit  to  their  modest  lodgings  he  was 
accompanied  by"  a  Polish  lady  married  to  an  extremely 
reactionary  Russian  prince.  -She  wore  her  title  and 
her  beauty  with  a  certain  careless  grace.  She  stared 
at  the  young  girl,  and  said,  catching  her  breath. 

"Mon  Dieu!  He  has  sent  his  daughter;  and  she 
nothing  but  a  child ! ' ' 

''I  could  wish,"  the  Polish  princess  said,  presently 
"that  you  were  less  lovely,  my  child.  I  could  wish 
for  your  safety's  sake  you  were  ordinary.  But  you 
are  what  you  are,  his  daughter,  one  of  the  children 
of  fate."  She  even  wished  Wenceslaus  had  been  dif- 
ferent, for  the  old  man  could  not  help  towering  above 


THE  KITE  119 

others.  Plainly,  the  two  could  not  appear  less  than 
themselves.  The  thing  to  do  was  to  try  to  make  them 
as  inconspicuous  as  possible. 

A  red-faced  cabby  and  a  common-looking  workman 
took  the  two  travelers  to  the  ship  that  was  to  carry 
them  to  America.  As  they  went  aboard,  Marya  Jad- 
wiga  saw  the  gentleman  who  spoke  Polish,  bidding  gay 
farewells  to  a  party  of  handsome  Americans  on  their 
way  home.  His  eyes  went  over  the  old  man  and  the 
young  girl  without  a  trace  of  recognition.  But  she 
knew  why  he  was  there. 

The  young  girl  wished  that  this  wild  journey  might 
be  ended,  that  she  could  be  relieved  of  that  thin 
package  which  weighed  upon  her  so  heavily.  She 
began  to  fear  it,  to  dread  it,  to  be  suspicious  of  its 
terrible  import  and  consequences.  To  allow  Bear  and 
Eagle  to  come  to  grips  in  a  final  death-struggle — she 
could  understand  that.  But  what  purpose  was  to  be 
served  by  calling  in  a  man  with  a  face  like  a  golden 
mask?  She  had  heard  one  word  breathed — Siberia. 
What  should  the  golden  men  do  in  -Siberia,  which 
was,  her  father  said,  the  key  to  the  East,  the  key  to  a 
great  empire  about  to  be  born  ?  And,  puzzling  sadly 
about  this  thing,  she  was  afraid. 

Once  the  ship  had  turned  her  nose  seaward,  Wen- 
ceslaus  fell  ill;  he  was  incurably  a  landsman.  The 
girl  was  left  very  much  to  herself.  She  was  not  used 
to  the  consolation  of  tears,  and  she  did  not  weep  now. 
But  when  she  stood  by  the  rail  and  saw  occasional  bits 
of  wreckage  tossed  about  at  the  caprice  of  the  sea,  she 
thought  she  herself  was  like  that — caught  up,  tossed 


120  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

forth,  swept  she  knew  not  whither  nor  to  what  end. 
She  was  tameless,  high-hearted,  free,  but  not  ad- 
venturous. She  had  inherited  from  a  long  line  of 
proud  women  a  fine  and  delicate  sense  of  propriety, 
from  proud  men  a  sense  of  direct,  open  dealing,  of 
straight  honor.  The  vagueness,  the  danger,  the  uncer- 
tainty of  her  present  state  had  no  charm  for  her. 

Her  wistful  face,  her  loneliness,  caught  a  steward's 
kindly  attention.  He  brought  her  several  books,  and 
got  as  his  reward  a  smile  that  made  his  hard-bitten 
heart  skip  a  beat.  In  a  quiet  way  this  man  looked 
after  her.  Whereupon  a  brisk  and  well-groomed 
young  gentleman,  who  had  noticed  the  girl  with  partic- 
ular attention,  seized  upon  that  steward  and  asked 
a  few  questions.  Whom  was  that  young  lady  with? 
She  traveled  alone  ?  One  always  saw  her  alone.  Oh, 
there  was  an  old  gentleman  with  her,  who  was  ill? 
Too  bad!  The  voyage  had  been  just  a  little  rough 
in  spots,  but  the  young  lady  herself  appeared  to  be 
a  good  sailor.  Her  name?  Miss  Fabre?  And  the 
old  gentleman  ?  his  name  was  Fabre,  too  ?  Her  grand- 
father ?  Thank  you,  steward !  And  the  young  gen- 
tleman bestowed  a  liberal  tip,  quite  as  though  the 
steward's  brief  replies  had  been  the  most  interesting 
conversation. 

Without  making  it  too  obvious,  the  young  man 
managed  to  haunt  that  portion  of  the  deck  where 
Marya  Jadwiga  happened  to  be  sitting.  On  one  oc- 
casion he  slipped,  collided  awkwardly  with  her  chair, 
and  sent  her  book  flying.  He  scrambled  after  and 
returned  the  book,  bowing  and  apologetic.  In  a  stiff 


THE  KITE  121 

and  precise  sort  of  way  he  was  good-looking,  after  the 
correct  manner  of  young  men  trained  militarily. 

When  she  looked  up,  startled,  he  noted  the  charm 
of  her  small,  heart-shaped  face.  She  accepted  his 
apologies,  but  with  a  sedate  politeness  that  offered  no 
opening  for  conversation.  He  thought  wise  to  ig- 
nore this.  He  asked  respectfully: 

' '  Mademoiselle  is  of  France  ? ' '  This  with  a  signifi- 
cant glance  at  her  book,  which  happened  to  be  Emile 
Souvestre's  lovely  "Un  Philosophe  sous  les  Toits." 

"No." 

"Ah!  a  Russian,  then?" 

She  made  a  vague  gesture,  which  sought  to  convey 
the  truth  that  it  should  make  no  difference  to  a 
stranger  what  her  nationality  might  be;  bowed  with 
finality ;  and,  opening  her  book,  politely  waited  for  him 
to  resume  his  interrupted  walk  and  allow  her  to  re- 
sume her  interrupted  reading.  There  was  nothing 
for  him  to  do  but  take  himself  off. 

The  incident,  commonplace  enough,  stayed  in  her 
mind ;  for  she  remembered  all  those  warnings  against 
strangers,  that  had  been  poured  into  her  ears  all  along 
her  route.  Pretending  to  read,  she  turned  her  head 
slightly,  following  the  young  man's  progress.  Pres- 
ently he  paused  to  speak  to  a  passenger  huddled  mo- 
rosely in  a  deck  chair,  and  in  the  most  casual  manner 
took  up  a  position  near  by,  his  back  to  the  rail.  With- 
out appearing  to  do  so,  he  could  keep  her  under 
observation.  Her  unease  grew.  Was  she  being 
watched?  suspected?  And  by  this  young  man? 

She  would  have  been  more  uneasy  could  she  have 


122  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

known  that  this  same  young  man,  himself  en  route  to 
America  upon  a  delicate  mission,  had  received  a  long 
wireless  message  in  cipher,  in  which  she  and  Wences- 
laus  were  described,  and  instructions  regarding  them 
conveyed;  and  that  the  young  man  wirelessed  back 
that  he  had  the  two  under  observation,  and  would  im- 
plicitly obey  orders. 

When  the  astounding  sky  line  of  New  York  came 
into  view,  Wenceslaus  was  able  to  cling  to  the  rail 
and  stare  at  it  wonderingly  but  without  hope.  His 
whole  being  was  bound  up  in  an  old  ruined  house,  an 
old  ruined  master;  and  away  from  them  he  felt  an 
exile's  bitterness  of  spirit.  But  he  made  no  com- 
plaint ;  his  place  now  was  with  Marya  Jadwiga ;  and 
was  not  she,  too,  an  exile? 

Franciszka  met  them.  She  had  been  cabled  from 
England,  greatly  to  her  astonishment,  and  she  looked 
at  them  as  curiously  as  they  looked  at  her.  This 
Americanized  Franciszka  amazed  Marya  Jadwiga,  and 
took  Wenceslaus 's  breath  away.  But,  handsome  as 
the  woman  was,  something  in  the  young  girl's  pure 
and  transparent  spirit  drew  away  from  her  at  sight. 

The  erstwhile  peasant  had  bourgeoned  into  a  sleek 
and  carefully  clothed  sophistication.  Ruthless,  clever, 
greedy,  she  had  prospered,  New  York  offering  a 
fertile  field  for  such  talents  as  she  possessed.  She 
was  wearing  a  noticeably  simple  tailored  suit  and  a 
small,  smart  hat.  Her  well-cared-for  skin  fitted  her 
like  the  skin  of  a  plump  grape.  Every  detail  of  her 
appearance  was  planned  and  calculated  to  produce  the 


THE  KITE  123 

effect  she  desired  to  create.  A  very  fastidious  man, 
noted  for  his  exquisite  taste,  had  once  been  caught 
in  Franciszka's  net.  He  had  presently  left  her  in 
disgust,  but  not  before  he  had  taught  her  the  wisdom 
of  dressing  in  accord  with  her  style  at  its  best. 

Franciszka  looked  with  quick  disdain  at  Wences- 
laus.  He  had  ceased  to  look  like  a  servant,  she  re- 
flected, but  that  was  only  in  outward  semblance.  Old 
fool!  At  heart  he  would  always  remain  the  Zuleski 
serving-man.  But  at  sight  of  Marya  Jadwiga  her 
eyes  narrowed.  She  was  sure  of  herself  and  her  own 
beauty  now;  but  she  felt  the  menace  to  her  kind  in 
the  c.o,ntrast  offered  by  this  pale,  unpainted  face  with 
its  veiled  eyes  and  virginal  mouth.  The  surge  of 
an  old  hate  poured  over  her. 

The  two  had  not  come  as  beggars,  evidently.  They 
were  better  dressed  than  one  had  expected.  Some 
one  had  evidently  been  at  pains  with  them.  Why? 
Why?  Why,  indeed,  were  they  here?  She  must 
shape  her  conduct  cautiously,  she  decided,  until  she 
had  fathomed  the  pair,  their  friends,  their  intentions, 
their  resources. 

Marya  Jadwiga  had  glanced  around  to  see  if  she 
were  unduly  observed — say  by  that  brisk  young  man 
she  suspected.  But  she  failed  to  discover  him  in  the 
crowd.  He,  however,  was  far  from  being  unobser- 
vant of  her  and  her  companion.  He  studied  Francis- 
zka closely,  and  with  growing  astonishment.  He  was 
far  too  clever,  he  had  seen  too  many  Franciszkas  in 
his  time  not  to  recognize  the  type  and  know  the  kite 
when  he  saw  it.  Now,  what  on  earth  was  Zuleski 's 


124  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

daughter  doing  in  such  company?  Had  Zuleski 
known  ?  Or  had  he  been  so  hard  pressed  that  he  had 
had  to  run  such  a  risk  as  this?  He  must  have  been 
playing  for  tremendous  stakes,  then,  for  bigger  stakes 
even  than  they  suspected.  From  the  fine  car  which 
had  been  awaiting  his  arrival,  he  watched  Marya 
Jadwiga  and  Wenceslaus  drive  away  with  Franciska; 
then  his  chauffeur  quietly  and  at  a  safe  distance 
turned  and  followed.  The  young  man  was  implicitly 
obeying  orders.  He  had  a  pleasant  sense  of  excite- 
ment and  adventure.  He  knew  something  about 
Florian  Zuleski 's  career,  himself.  He  wondered  if 
the  girl  had  heard  the  latest  news.  She  had  not — yet. 

Franciszka's  house  had  been  very  carefully  selected. 
A  fashionable  and  handsome  beauty  doctor,  with  a 
fashionable  and  wealthy  clientele,  must  select  her 
abode  with  the  nicest  care.  It  must  have  just  the 
right  atmosphere,  proclaiming  that  Anglo-Saxon  god 
Respectability :  and  at  the  same  time  it  must  suggest 
the  luxury  which  a  wealthy  and  nervous  patron,  with  a 
debilitated  body  to  be  massaged,  might  expect  and 
demand.  The  house  was  one  of  a  row  just  off  the 
lower  end  of  the  Avenue,  with  the  usual  impassive 
and  impressive  front,  the  usual  handsome,  discreet 
door,  and  windows  with  silk  shades  drawn.  There 
were  blooming  window-boxes,  and  the  iron  railings 
protecting  the  steps  were  unusually  good. 

The  front  hall,  in  paneled  woodwork,  carried 
out  the  impression  of  beauty  and  order.  Franciszka, 
with  a  lucrative  reputation  as  a  beauty  doctor  who 
really  beautified,  and  who  was  past  mistress  in  other 


THE  KITE  125 

even  more  lucrative  arts,  was  shrewd  and  sensible 
where  her  own  interests  were  concerned.  'She  knew  to 
a  nicety  how  to  hold  and  use  those  who  came  to  her 
hands;  their-  passions  and  pocketbooks  when  they 
happened  to  be.  men,  and  even,  whenever  possible, 
their  taste,  their  intelligence,  their  culture.  With 
women,  their  vanity,  always:  very  often  their  jeal- 
ousy and  their  cleverness,  their  manners  and  taste  in 
dress.  She  had  in  her  employ  three  or  four  young 
women,  each  of  whom  was  subtly  suggestive  of  her 
work,  and  graded  in  personal  attractiveness  until 
she  herself  formed  the  apex.  Each  was  comely ;  each 
fell  short  of  Franciszka.  The  Man  Who  Paid — 
there  is  always  a  Man  Who  Pays  for  the  Fran- 
ciszkas — laughed  gratingly  whenever  he  looked  at 
this  ensemble.  His  respect  for  Franciszka 's  acumen 
grew.  He  had  no  illusions,  even  about  himself,  but  he 
could  respect  cleverness  and  efficiency. 

He  had  not  let  Franciszka  go,  because  her  psychol- 
ogy amused  and  intrigued  him.  She  was  even  more 
ruthless  than  he  was,  she  was  clever,  she  was  at  times 
very  useful  to  him,  and  she  did  not  bore  him  too  much. 
Although  he  had  no  more  love  for  her  than  she 
had  for  him,  they  got  along  very  amicably;  and  he 
paid  her  bills  without  grumbling,  and  backed  her  busi- 
ness ventures  without  loss  to  himself  and  with  profit 
to  her. 

He  would  have  loathed  her  had  she  been  afflicted 
with  a  conscience,  or  if  her  complexes  had  been  nai've. 
Her  robust,  peasant's  health,  her  almost  menacing 
vitality,  warmed  his  chilled  veins.  It  gave  him  a 


126  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

curious  and  perverse  pleasure  to  reflect  that  he,  who 
was  old,  absorbed  through  her,  who  was  young,  all 
the  youth,  the  freshness,  the  vitality  she  looted  from 
others,  who  loved  her. 

He  would  regard  her  oxlike  eyes,  which  had  a  very 
unoxlike  gleam  in  their  dark  depths,  her  moist,  insa- 
tiable, half-open  mouth,  her  splendid  hair,  and  smile 
with  a  certain  gratified  selfishness.  Oh,  yes,  she  was 
a  fine  creature ;  something  of  a  devil,  but  he  had  never 
had  any  hankering  after  angels.  So  he  chuckled  over 
the  beauty  business,  which  gave  his  dear,  dark  kite  her 
chance  at  respectability — and  at  the  same  time  her 
opportunity  to  throw  him  certain  choice  titbits 
when  he  expressed  the  desire  to  possess  them.  One 
sees  that  this  partnership  was  a  highly  satisfactory 
arrangement  all  around. 

Wenceslaus  and  Marya  Jadwiga  looked  at  the  solid, 
stolid,  handsome  respectability  of  Franciska's  house, 
and  entered  its  handsome  door,  and  stared  at  its  sub- 
dued, luxurious  interior,  wonderingly.  A  tall  old 
gentleman,  dressed  with  quiet  elegance,  was  lounging 
on  a  settle  in  the  hall,  idly  turning  over  the  pages  of 
a  brightly  covered  magazine,  when  they  entered.  He 
nodded  to  Franciszka,  but  did  not  rise;  a  slightly 
mocking  gleam  came  into  his  eyes  when  he  met  old 
Wenceslaus 's  respectful  glance.  Then  the  mocking 
light  vanished ;  Franciszka  stepped  aside,  and  he  saw 
Marya  Jadwiga. 

Franciszka  had  been  informed  that  Count  Florian's 
daughter  was  henceforth  to  be  known  as  Miss  Fabre. 
It  was  as  Miss  Fabre  that  she  was  introduced  to  the 


THE  KITE  127 

old  gentleman,  who  rose  with  alacrity,  and  greeted  her 
with  pleasant  courtesy  and  friendliness.  Over  her 
head  he  looked  at  Franciszka  and  slightly  drooped  his 
lids.  Franciszka 's  own  eyes  narrowed.  So?  At 
first  sight?  This  was  going  to  be  interesting.  Zu- 
leski  's  girl ! 

Franciszka 's  house  had  more  magic  details  for  com- 
fort than  they  had  known  existed.  Marya  Jadwiga 
could  not  help  comparing  the  roiom  assigned  to  her — 
which,  though  small,  was  extremely  comfortable  and 
in  good  taste — with  that  bare,  bleak  bedchamber  at 
home.  A  sigh  rose  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart. 
Oh,  to  be  back  there,  with  all  its  bareness,  its  poverty ! 
Home! 

This  fine  Franciszka  puzzled  her.  She  experienced 
an  inexplicable  aversion  for  the  woman.  She  could  not 
like  Franciszka,  and  she  hoped  Wenceslaus  would  not 
be  beguiled  into  trusting  her  overmuch.  Then  she  felt 
ashamed  of  these  feelings ;  for  what  would  they  have 
done  save  for  this  same  woman?  She  had  received 
them  into  her  house,  comparative  strangers  that  they 
were. 

It  was  natural  that  Franciszka  should  want  to  know 
why  they  had  so  suddenly  decided  to  come  to  New 
York,  and  what  they  intended  doing  now  they  were 
here.  It  was  natural  that  she  should  wish  to  know 
their  resources,  too.  She  herself,  she  told  them,  had 
had  a  hard  enough  struggle  at  first;  until  she  discov- 
ered kind  friends,  and  the  way  to  make  a  good  living 
for  herself.  But  now,  although  she  still  had  to  work 
hard,  as  they  saw,  and  was  always  busy,  she  was  do- 


128  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

ing  very  well.  Oh,  yes,  very  well  indeed.  Perhaps, 
later  on,  if  need  arose,  she  could  put  Marya  Jadwig'a 
in  the  way  of  doing  just  as  well  for  herself. 

Marya  Jadwiga  felt  that  she  really  should  be  grate- 
ful to  Franciszka. 

Within  a  week  of  their  arrival  a  cablegram  came 
from  England.  It  was  unsigned,  but  Marya  Jadwiga 
knew  that  the  Polish  lady  who  was  called  "Princess" 
had  sent  it.  It  read : 

Even  while  we  lament  his  loss  your  father's  friends  re- 
joice that  his  passing  was  painless  and  peaceful. 

Upon  Franciska  the  news  of  Pan  Florian's  death 
had  a  curious  effect.  There  was  something  tigerish 
in  her  eyes  as  she  considered  the  little  noblewoman 
thrust  thus  strangely  into  her  life. 

"I  certainly  hope  you  've  got  enough  to  tide  you 
over,"  she  said  bluntly.  "Maybe  you  don't  know  it 
yet,  but  it  takes  more  to  live  a  month  in  New  York 
than  a  year  in  the  old  country.  I  don't  like  to  worry 
you,  when  you  're  so  upset  about  the  old  gentleman 
and  all,  but  I  thought  for  your  own  sake  I  'd  better 
ask  you  what  you  mean  to  do." 

"I  'm  afraid  I  don't  know  yet  just  what  we  're  go- 
ing to  do,  Franciszka.  I  was  waiting — that  is,  I 
thought  my  father  would  have  sent  us  word — "  She 
stopped  at  that.  "But  of  course  we  cannot  stay  on 
indefinitely  in  your  house  without  remunerating  you, ' ' 
she  finished,  bravely  enough.  ' '  If  we  are  in  your  way, 
Franciszka — I  'm  afraid  we  are — why,  you  will  tell  us 


THE  KITE  129 

where  we  may  find  some  inexpensive  lodgings,  and  we 
will  go." 

Franciszka,  who  had  her  own  reasons  for  not  wish- 
ing the  girl  to  leave  her  house,  said,  after  a  thought- 
ful pause: 

"You  better  try  to  save  all  you  can.  Now,  one 
of  my  girls  is  off  sick,  and  I  'm  real  short-handed. 
I  'm  awful  particular  who  I  take  on:  I  have  to  be, 
with  customers  like  mine.  You  're  a  lady,  and  you 
talk  real  good  English.  Say  you  take  my  girl's  place 
for  a  while, — get  things  ready,  hand  out  hot  towels, 
and  hairpins  and  creams  and  things  like  that, 
make  yourself  useful, — and  I  '11  call  your  board  and 
the  old  man 's  square.  Later,  if  you  like  the  work  and 
want  to  keep  on,  with  what  I  'd  pay  you  and  what 
you  'd  make  on  the  side  you  'd  earn  good  money.  And 
you  've  got  to  remember  this :  Wenceslaus  was  all  right 
in  the  old  country,  but  he  can't  do  anything  for  you 
here.  It 's  you  that 's  got  to  make  a  living  for  both. ' ' 

' '  If  you  think  I  can  do  it,  Franciszka,  I  will  try, ' ' 
said  Marya  Jadwiga,  calmly.  She  thought  that  pres- 
ently They  would  get  word  to  her,  relieving  her  of 
that  package.  In  the  meantime  it  would  strengthen 
her  courage  to  earn  enough  for  herself  and  Wences- 
laus during  these  trying  days. 

Franciszka  never  spared  any  of  her  workwomen. 
She  was  a  hard  taskmistress,  exacting  every  ounce  of 
labor  for  every  penny  of  payment.  It  was  not  likely 
that  she  would  spare  Marya  Jadwiga.  To  have  Flo- 
rian  Zuleski's  daughter  at  her  beck  and  call,  to  give 
her  orders,  tickled  Franciszka 's  sense  of  humor. 


130  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

Many  things  had  come  to  her  net;  but  never  in  her 
wildest  imaginings  had  she  dreamed  that  a  sportive 
destiny  would  toss  her  a  morsel  like  this ! 

Wenceslaus  protested  violently.  Surely  the  world 
was  turning  upside  down  when  such  as  Franciszka 
could  put  menial  work  upon  the  Countess  Marya  Jad- 
wiga  Zuleska.  When  he  said  so  to  Franciszka,  she 
fluttered  her  eyelids  insolently  and  smiled. 

"It's  a  little  way  the  world  has,"  she  retorted,  en- 
joying with  malicious  amusement  his  helpless  anger. 
He  sensed  this,  and  was  suddenly  afraid.  He  grew 
ever  more  ill  at  ease  in  her  house.  Restless  even 
to  nervousness,  the  old  man  desired  to  get  out  into 
the  streets  and  walk,  walk,  walk.  He  liked  these 
foreign  streets,  so  full  of  life,  glitter,  movement.  The 
wizardries  of  scintillating  and  colorful  electric  signs 
left  him  lost  in  wonder.  He  thought  at  first  that 
this  beautiful  magic  which  glowed  in  the  sky  every 
night  must  serve  some  great  moral  end,  must  have 
some  vital  bearing  upon  the  lives  of  these  people, 
since  they  made  it  so  much  a  part  of  their  lives. 
When  he  was  told  that  it  merely  meant  chewing 
gum,  or  sewing-silk,  or  maybe  automobile  tires  or  a 
substitute  for  coffee,  he  was  curiously  saddened  and 
disappointed,  having  somewhat  the  sensations  one 
might  have  who  saw  a  great  angel  utilized  as,  say,  a 
sandwich  man. 

Beautiful  spires  and  towers  rising  into  pearly  skies, 
great  buildings  of  unequal  heights  producing  the 
effect  of  crags  and  mountain  pinnacles,  the  titanic  so- 
lidity and  strength  of  a  city  of  granite  upon  granite 


THE  KITE  131 

impressed  him  profoundly.  He  watched  great  police- 
men performing  miracles  with  obedient  crowds,  which 
obeyed  them  as,  he  surmised,  no  people  ever  obeyed 
God.  He  could  not  help  being  glad  he  had  seen  this 
city  of  wonders ;  none  other  was  ever  like  unto  it,  ever 
could  be  like  it;  for  it  had  grown  accidentally,  as  it 
were;  was  more  like  some  stupendous  formation  of 
nature  than  the  work  of  man ;  there  was  nothing  reg- 
ular, nothing  planned ;  yet  the  whole,  like  a  mountain 
mass,  satisfied  one  with  a  sense  of  fitness.  An  en- 
chantment, a  place  of  magic — anything  could  happen 
in  these  amazing  streets! 

One  night  a  very  pleasant  thing  happened.  He  and 
Marya  Jadwiga  were  standing  before  a  lighted  shop 
window  full  of  little  statuettes.  Some  were  of  the 
Blessed  Mother,  some  of  holy  saints  quite  unknown  to 
him.  They  were  commenting  on  these,  when  a  tall, 
thin,  rather  melancholy-faced  man  paused  beside 
them,  lifted  his  hat,  and  spoke  to  them  in  good  Polish ! 

' '  Pardon  me  for  speaking  to  you,  but  I  was  born  in 
Warsaw,  and  when  I  heard  you  and  your  daughter 
speak,  I  knew  you  for  my  own  people. ' ' 

"The  young  mistress  was  born  in  Cracow,"  Wen- 
ceslaus  said  stiffly.  Could  the  man  not  see  that  he, 
Wenceslaus,  was  but  her  servant,  that  she  was  high- 
born? 

"My  mother's  father  was  a  shoemaker  in  Cracow. 
He  was  killed  in  sixty-three,"  the  man  said  simply. 
And  as  Wenceslaus  turned  again  to  the  window,  rec- 
ognizing a  little  saint  in  the  back  row,  the  man 
looked  straight  into  Marya  Jadwiga 's  eyes  and  made 


132  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

a  sign,  so  slight,  so  quick,  so  casual,  that  for  the  mo- 
ment she  doubted  the  evidence  of  her  senses. 

Wenceslaus  turned  again,  his  face  lighted  with  a 
smile. 

"It  is  really  our  own  little  Saint  Stanislaus!  We 
find  our  own  good  little  saint  here,  and  we  so  far  away 
from  home ! ' '  He  held  his  hat  in  his  hand,  bent  his 
head  slightly,  and  put  up  a  silent  prayer. 

"We  are  to  be  found  everywhere,  my  friend,"  said 
the  stranger.  Imperatively  he  repeated  the  almost 
imperceptible  sign. 

Should  she  answer  ?  Should  she  recognize  it  ?  Her 
father  had  said  only  those  to  be  trusted  had  it.  She 
hesitated  a  moment;  then,  with  a  beating  heart,  ac- 
knowledged it. 

"I  am  dark,  I  speak  French,  I  am  supposed  to  be 
a  Frenchman, ' '  the  man  explained  good-humoredly  to 
Wenceslaus,  who  asked  him  a  few  questions.  "But 
my  name  is  Jan  Dzylinski.  One  understands  nobody 
could  get  along  here  with  a  name  like  that!  So  I 
am  called  Jean  Romain.  It  does  very  well." 

"And  we  are  called  Fabre,  as  you  are  called  Ro- 
main," said  Marya  Jadwiga,  gravely,  "but  my 
father's  name  was  Florian  Zuleski."  Had  he  not 
given  her  the  signal  ? 

"  It  is  a  great  name — Zuleski, ' '  said  Jan  Dzylinski. 

He  spoke  hat  in  hand.  "Pani,  if  I  can  ever  be 
of  the  slightest  service  to  you,  to  anybody,  in  that 
name — "  His  respect  for  the  young  girl  was  deep 
enough  to  satisfy  even  Wenceslaus. 

There  was  some  further  pleasant  talk  between  them, 


THE  KITE  133 

as  between  fellow  countrymen  met  in  a  foreign  land, 
before  the  man  went  his  way. 

Life  in  Franciszka's  house  pressed  ever  more  heav- 
ily upon  them.  Ah!  Why  was  there  no  sign,  no 
word,  from  those  who,  her  father  had  said,  were  ex- 
pecting her?  Had  there  been  some  fatal  hitch  in 
Zuleski's  plans?  Had  all  things  ended  with  himself? 
Why  were  they  left  so  alone?  Each  hour  seemed  to 
her  a  day. 

She  did  not  know  that  since  he  had  overheard  the 
conversation  between  Zuleski  and  Rittenheim,  Cza- 
dowska  scouted  certain  tentative  promises  or  rather 
hints  of  promises,  made  by  her  father;  the  Rus- 
sian now  disbelieved  that  Zuleski  had  ever  meant 
to  carry  his  hints  through  to  fruition ;  Czadowska  was 
therefore  working  from  another  angle.  Of  all  this 
she  was  of  course  ignorant.  Nor  did  she  know  that  a 
telephone  inquiry  for  Miss  Fabre  had  been  answered 
by  Franciszka,  who  had  said  that  Miss  Fabre  was 
out,  but  that  any  message  left  for  her  would  be 
delivered  on  her  return.  Astute,  suspicious,  deter- 
mined to  know  all  she  could  about  the  two  whose  pres- 
ence in  her  house  was  still  a  puzzle  to  her,  Franciszka 
meant  to  watch  their  every  move.  A  man 's  voice  had 
replied  that  he  would  telephone  later.  Thrice  had 
this  happened,  and  Franciszka  had  said  nothing  to 
the  girl.  Who  wished  to  see  Marya  Jadwiga?  Who 
knew  of  her  presence  here  ?  And  why  was  she  called 
Miss  Fabre?  Franciszka  meant  to  know.  She  had 
her  own  reasons. 


134  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

On  an  evening  when  the  two  were  out,  Franciszka 
let  herself  into  the  basement  room  which  Wenceslans 
thought  he  had  left  securely  locked.  Cold-bloodedly 
she  examined  his  possessions.  H  'm !  Not  very  much, 
certainly,  but  of  good  quality.  Then  she  discovered 
his  wallet,  hidden  at  the  bottom  of  his  small  trunk. 
Marya  Jadwiga  had  thought  it  prudent  to  divide  their 
store,  and  the  old  man  had  believed  the  money  safe  in 
his  trunk,  here  in  Franciszka 's  house. 

The  woman  balanced  the  purse  in  her  hand.  The 
sum  was  not  very  large;  there  might  be  more  later; 
or  this  might  be  all.  In  any  case,  let  us  remove  this, 
and  see  what  happens!  Through  the  foresight  of 
the  Polish  gentleman  in  London,  the  money  was  in 
good  American  bank  notes.  She  put  the  roll  of  bills 
into  her  bosom,  which  tingled  pleasantly  at  contact 
with  the  one  thing  in  the  world  which  could  possibly 
warm  it.  Carefully  replacing  everything  exactly  as 
she  had  found  it,  she  locked  his  trunk,  locked  the  door 
after  her,  and  went  serenely  about  her  business.  This 
would,  she  hoped,  teach  the  old  numskull  a  good  les- 
son. And,  supposing  this  should  be  all  they  had  or 
could  get,  she  rather  liked  the  notion  of  Marya  Jad- 
wiga being  left  penniless. 

Franciszka  was  far  too  shrewd  to  underestimate 
Marya  Jadwiga.  There  was  a  something  about  her 
which  made  one  look  at  her  twice,  and  wish  to  see  her 
again.  True,  she  was  very  small,  almost  diminutive, 
but  even  in  this  she  pleased,  for  the  Man  Who  Paid 
likened  her  to  a  Tanagra  figurine.  Franciszka  did 
not  know  what  a  Tanagra  figurine  might  be,  but  she 


THE  KITE  135 

realized  it  would  be  something  extremely  expensive, 
since  he  thought  so  highly  of  it.  Franciszka  had 
instantly  pricked  up  her  ears.  She  saw  how  very 
valuable  the  girl  might  be  made. 

For  Marya  Jadwiga,  by  no  effort  of  her  own,  had 
been  able  to  rouse  the  man's  dangerous  interest. 
Faultfinding,  hypercritical,  demanding  perfection, 
from  the  moment  he  first  saw  her  he  had  been  un- 
able to  forget  her.  She  was  constantly  in  his  thought ; 
for  here  was  something  new,  something  untouched, 
unspoiled,  fresh  with  pure  dew,  virginal  and  sweet. 
Something  finer,  rarer,  more  delicate  than  anything  he 
had  as  yet  possessed.  Corrupt  to  the  heart 's  core,  he 
had  a  horrible  but  infallible  appreciation  of  youth  and 
beauty,  and  he  found  both,  flowering  exquisitely,  in 
the  little  foreign  girl  in  Franciszka 's  house. 

Franciszka  was  not  in  the  least  jealous.  She 
laughed,  and  there  leapt  into  her  eyes  the  something 
tigerish  he  liked  to  watch  for.  Ohe,  but  here  was  a 
joyous  jest !  But  she  realized  she  must  feel  her  way 
with  nicest  discretion,  for  the  girl  would  be  difficult 
to  deal  with.  But  the  more  obdurate  she  proved,  the 
more  the  man  would  move  heaven  and  earth  to  have 
his  own  way.  So  of  course  he  would  have  to  pay — 
pay  largely.  Franciszka  felt  that  she  might  almost 
name  her  own  price  for  helping  him,  when  such  a  one 
as  Zuleski's  girl  was  at  stake. 

And  Zuleski  himself  had  sent  her  here!  She  did 
not  know  why,  but  here  the  girl  was;  and  Zuleski 
himself  was  safely  dead.  There  was  but  one  very 
slight  circumstance  which  gave  one  any  pause:  who 


136  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

was  trying  to  reach  Marya  Jadwiga  over  the  tele- 
phone? Somebody  who  had  met  her  on  shipboard? 
Possibly.  Whoever  he  might  be,  he  had  not  given 
name  or  address,  nothing  more  than  the  curt  "I  will 
ring  again."  One  could  not  consider  such  an  un- 
known as  a  factor  in  the  situation.  On  the  whole,  it 
was  just  such  a  situation  as  Franciszka  delighted  to 
handle. 

She  had  handled  others  for  the  Man  Who  Paid,  but 
never  one  so  piquant  as  this;  never  one  which  in- 
volved such  feeling  of  gratified  hate.  Wenceslaus 
might  try  to  make  trouble.  But  beggars  cannot  be 
choosers.  Wenceslaus  could  be  disposed  of.  It  had 
been  good  business  to  make  him  even  more  futile  by 
making  him  penniless. 

When  Wenceslaus  discovered  the  loss  of  his  pre- 
cious wallet  he  tore  his  hair.  Franciszka,  deeply  an- 
noyed by  his  loud  lamentings,  coldly  insisted  that  he 
himself  had  lost  his  purse — if,  indeed,  he  ever  had  such 
a  thing.  He  had  taken  it  out  with  him  and  some 
slick-fingered  pickpocket  had  relieved  him  of  it — if 
there  had  been  anything  to  steal.  And  she  looked  at 
Wenceslaus  with  smoldering  eyes  and  a  frown  of  dis- 
like. 

This  new  calamity — for  he  could  regard  the  loss  of 
the  money  as  nothing  short  of  a  calamity — added  to 
his  bewilderment,  and  increased  Marya  Jadwiga 's  per- 
plexities. There  was  as  yet  no  word  from  those  who 
were  to  have  come  to  her;  and  her  work  for  Fran- 
ciszka was  daily  growing  heavier  and  more  onerous. 

With  frightful  suffering  Wenceslaus  saw  this  last. 


THE  KITE  137 

He  was  beginning  to  hate  Franciszka's  house,  with  its 
pervasive  faint  smell  of  scents  and  lotions  and  creams 
and  soaps  and  powders,  and  women,  women,  women; 
women  whose  massaged,  expressionless  faces,  smoothed 
and  rubbed  out  of  all  womanliness  and  humanity, 
made  him  think  uneasily  of  heathen  idols.  Their 
mouths  were  too  red,  as  though  they  drank  blood. 
As  though  the  lif  eblood  of  other  women — poor  women 
— and  children,  and  many  workingmen,  squeezed  out 
of  the  wine  presses  of  modern  commercialism  for  the 
benefit  and  well-being  of  these  favored  few,  had  red- 
dened the  satiated  mouths  that  devoured  them.  When 
he  looked  at  these  massaged  and  marcelled  women, 
he  was  afraid  of  them.  He  felt  stifled  in  this  atmos- 
phere, he  who  was  so  used  to  the  open  air  and  to  a 
noble  poverty. 

He  dared  not  talk  with  freedom  to  Marya  Jadwiga 
any  more,  for  Franciszka,  watching  them  hawklike, 
always  managed  to  appear,  to  interrupt.  She  did  not 
want  them  to  be  much  together;  she  wished  to  keep 
the  little  mistress  to  herself,  to  have  her  always  under 
her  own  eyes.  Wenceslaus  saw,  but  was  unable  to 
cope  with  the  clever  woman.  Also,  she  was  trying  to 
prevent  their  walks  in  the  open.  "When  Marya  Jad- 
wiga, somewhat  resentful  of  this  interference,  had 
lifted  her  head  with  a  hint  of  haughtiness,  Franciszka 
had  explained  that  the  streets  were  not  altogether 
safe ;  they  did  not  understand  the  danger  they  ran  by 
wandering  around  alone.  Wenceslaus  scouted  the 
idea.  Since  the  loss  of  his  purse,  which  the  stubborn 
old  man  knew  he  had  left  in  his  trunk,  he  had  been 


138  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

distrustful  of  Franciszka.  He  said,  shortly,  that  he 
and  the  little  mistress  had  to  have  fresh  air.  The 
streets  were  safe  enough,  and  when  they  were  out 
of  the  house  they  could — forget  things  for  a  while. 
And  he  looked  at  the  woman  with  his  steady,  stern 
old  eyes. 

"Oh,  I  don't  care!  You  can  get  yourself  run  over 
some  night,  for  all  of  me, ' '  said  Franciszka,  angrily. 
' '  I  was  n  't  thinking  of  you ;  I  was  thinking  of  her. ' ' 
And  this  was  true.  The  Man  Who  Paid  had  given 
orders  that  the  girl  was  to  be  kept  as  close  as  possible. 
He  did  not  want  too  many  people  to  see  her  yet.  It 
might  endanger  his  plans. 

The  young  girl,  to  whom  old  age  meant  nothing  but 
goodness,  reverence,  protection,  who  had  been  in  the 
care  of  two  noble  old  men  all  her  life,  looked  with 
grateful  eyes  at  this  one.  He  had  very  fine  manners 
when  he  wished,  and  he  wished  now  to  appear  at  his 
best.  When  he  assured  her  that  he  was  her  friend, 
that  he  wished  to  be  of  service  to  her,  she  felt  that 
the  Holy  Mother  had  answered  her  prayers.  See, 
already  Heaven  was  raising  friends  for  her  and  Wen- 
ceslaus !  They  would  not  be  left  utterly  alone  in  this 
alien  land.  This  good,  this  kind,  this  fatherly  old 
man  would  presently  advise  them,  show  them  what 
to  do. 

He  seemed  to  divine  her  perplexities  and  to  sym- 
pathize with  her  in  her  predicament.  He  had  been 
able  to  be  of  considerable  service  to  Franciszka,  he 
told  her.  On  his  advice  she  had  bought  this  house. 
A  capable  business  woman,  she  would  make  the  place 


THE  KITE  139 

pay  for  itself.  But  for  herself — Miss  Fabre — was 
she  perfectly  satisfied  here?  Was  it  not  somewhat 
unsuited  to  her  ?  Ah,  he  had  suspected  that !  Fran- 
ciszka  was,  as  he  had  said,  a  very  capable  business 
woman.  But  for  a  little  girl,  like  herself —  Suppose, 
now,  he  could  secure  her  a  better  position,  one  more 
suited  to  her?  Say,  secretary  to  some  old  professor, 
who  was  writing  a  book ;  or  companion  to  some  pleas- 
ant and  wealthy  old  lady:  wouldn't  that  be  better? 

Marya  Jadwiga  said  it  would  be  much,  much  better. 
She  was  afraid  she  hardly  earned  her  keep  as  it  was. 
She  was  awkward  at  the  work,  and  it  seemed  to  grow 
more  and  more  irksome  to  her,  instead  of  becoming 
easier.  She  did  not  complain  of  Franciszka's  ruth- 
less demands  upon  her  time  and  strength,  nor  of  the 
menial  labor  imposed  upon  her,  nor  of  the  treatment 
accorded  her  by  some  of  the  women  clients — she  had 
not  known  women  could  be  like  that  to  other  women. 
But  the  kind  old  gentleman,  as  though  he  understood 
without  being  told,  narrowed  his  eyes,  frowned,  and 
tugged  at  his  mustache.  He  muttered: 

"I  '11  have  to  see  about  this !  This  state  of  affairs 
must  be  changed,  immediately." 

"I  'm  glad  you  've  made  such  a  good  friend. 
You  're  lucky,"  said  Franciszka.  "Once  he  likes 
you,  he  '11  stand  by  you.  You  keep  on  pleasing  him ; 
he  '11  do  a  whole  lot  for  you." 

"I  don't  wish  to  appear  ungrateful,  Franciszka," 
said  Marya  Jadwiga,  delicately  considerate  of  the 
feelings  she  credited  the  woman  with  possessing,  "but 
you  can  see  for  yourself  that  it  would  be  better  for 


140  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

me  to  make  a  change.  I  'm  afraid  I  'm  not  of  much 
value  to  you." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  other,  with  a  sudden 
gleam  of  the  eyes.  "But  whatever  you  do,  you  stick 
to  His  Nibs.  He  's  got  money  to  burn." 

"He  has  a  very  kind  heart,"  said  the  young  girl, 
with  mild  reproof. 

"Old  men  pretty  nearly  always  have  kind  hearts 
for  young  women, ' '  said  Franciszka. 

That  night,  putting  aside  Franciszka 's  objections, 
Marya  Jadwiga  and  Wenceslaus  went  for  their  usual 
stroll,  the  old  man  being  painfully  restless.  At 
Twenty-third  Street  they  crossed  over  into  Madison 
Square,  and  sat  down  for  awhile.  The  noise,  the 
lights,  the  constant  stream  of  buses,  of  fine  cars,  the 
endless  stream  of  people,  the  glitter  of  Twenty-third 
Street,  the  airy  grace  of  the  Metropolitan  tower,  the 
restrained  and  ordered  beauty  of  Madison  Square 
Garden,  the  looming  dark  bulk  of  the  Flatiron  Build- 
ing, like  the  prow  of  some  unimaginable  galley,  held 
them  absorbed.  Marya  Jadwiga  thought  that  one 
perceived  the  beauty  of  New  York  as  perhaps  one 
received  an  inspiration :  it  was  not  static,  but  ecstatic, 
the  revelation  of  a  poignant  moment,  come  suddenly, 
like  a  flash  of  beauty  into  a  plain  face,  and  having  the 
unforgetable  charm  of  the  unexpected.  She  thought 
one  might  love  New  York  as  a  man  might  love  a 
homely  woman  into  whose  face  at  intervals  flashed 
this  different  and  unexpected  loveliness,  for  which  one 
watched  always  with  an  eagerness,  a  desire,  a  delight 
that  no  other  face  could  arouse  or  satisfy. 


THE  KITE  141 

Absorbed  and  musing,  she  paid  but  scant  attention 
to  the  people  near  her.  A  slovenly  man  sitting  next 
her  got  up  and  moved  away.  His  place  was  almost 
immediately  taken  by  a  rather  meager  Japanese, 
dressed  with  the  meticulous  carefulness  of  his  race. 
He  carried  a  roll  of  newspapers,  and  looked  about 
him  with  a  sort  of  impassive  interest.  No  one  would 
pay  more  than  the  merest  passing  interest  to  the  un- 
obtrusive little  man.  Marya  Jadwiga  was  scarcely 
conscious  of  his  presence,  until  she  felt  something 
thrust  into  her  hand.  At  the  same  moment  the 
Japanese  got  up  and  walked  away. 

Her  hand  mechanically  closed  upon  the  tiny  slip  of 
paper  thrust  into  it.  In  the  brightly  lighted  square 
she  could  read  the  typewritten  line : 

It  is  desirable  that  you  hear  the  name  of  one  who  died  in 
exile. 

There  was  neither  signature  nor  date,  nor  any 
other  message.  But  her  heart  gave  a  great  upward 
leap.  They  were  not  unaware  of  her  presence,  then. 
They  had  let  her  hear  from  them  at  last.  And  the 
yellow  man  had  made  the  first  move.  Well,  she 
would  do  what  she  had  been  sent  to  do ;  and  this  sus- 
pense would  be  in  part  ended.  And  yet — there  was 
no  gladness  in  her.  A  leaden  and  dispirited  sense  of 
unease  oppressed  her.  She  said  to  Wenceslaus  pres- 
ently, in  a  low  voice : 

"Do  not  start  or  look  astonished.  Just  keep  look- 
ing around  as  if  what  I  were  telling  you  was  but  of 


142  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

passing  interest.  Look  at  those  children  in  red 
frocks,  for  instance. ' ' 

Wenceslaus  looked  at  the  two  children  in  red  frocks. 
They  were  noisy  small  children  who  should  have  been 
in  bed  and  asleep,  he  thought. 

"I  have  received  a  message  from  one  of  Them," 
said  Marya  Jadwiga.  The  old  man's  eyes  left  the 
children,  and  sought  hers,  dumbly. 

' '  It  may  mean  the  end  of  our  exile,  dear, ' '  she  whis- 
pered hopefully. 

' '  Who  ?    Which  of  them  ?  "  he  whispered  back. 

"A  yellow  man.  Sitting  next  to  me.  I  didn't 
really  see  him ;  he  gave  me  the  message  and  immedi- 
ately got  up  and  walked  off." 

"What  do  we  do  next?"  he  asked,  brightening 
slightly.  Please  the  good  God,  they  might  soon  be 
able  to  leave  that  hateful  house,  in  which  one's  lungs 
felt  clogged  and  one's  brains  were  always  bewildered. 

"I  don't  know.  I  shall  wait.  They  will  manage 
it." 

When  they  reached  home,  Franciszka  said  pleasantly 
enough : 

"You  just  missed  our  friend.  He  was  sorry  not  to 
see  you.  He  's  real  worried  about  you;  says  you  're 
looking  too  pale;  that  this  business  don't  agree  with 
you,  and  you  ought  to  have  a  different  kind  of  work. 
He  's  been  looking  around  for  something  real  nice  for 
you,  and  he  thinks  he  's  found  it — an  awfully  easy 
place  with  a  rich  old  lady,  a  sort  of  cousin  of  his. 
He  says  if  she  takes  to  you  you  '11  be  in  real  luck,  and 
he  's  sure  she  will,  because  he  's  been  talking  to  her 


THE  KITE  143 

about  you,  and  she  's  interested  and  wants  to  see  you. 

"You  'd  be  a  sort  of  companion  to  her — write  her 
letters,  and  read  to  her,  and  go  out  with  her,  and 
amuse  her,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  No  real  hard  work, 
a  nice  old  lady,  and  a  pleasant  home."  'She  watched 
the  girl  shrewdly,  and  at  sight  of  the  brightening  face 
she  smiled  slightly. 

' '  If  you  like  the  idea,  he  '11  come  for  you  some  night 
and  take  you  to  her  house.  And  he  says  if  you  and 
her  don't  hit  it  off,  he  '11  take  you  to  see  another  friend 
of  his,  a  professor  who  's  writing  some  sort  of  book, 
and  needs  somebody  to  keep  his  pages  numbered  and 
look  up  things  for  him.  What  I  think  is,  you  're  in 
line  for  a  good,  soft  job  one  way  or  the  other,  and  you 
better  think  yourself  mighty  lucky  to  have  such  a 
friend  as  him  to  look  out  for  you." 

"Ah,  I  do  think  so!  and  I  am  indeed  grateful  to 
him — and  to  you,  too,  Franciszka,"  said  Marya  Jad- 
wiga,  sweetly.  "I  only  hope  I  shall  please  the  old 
lady.  If  I  do  not,  then  I  shall  hope  to  please  the  pro- 
fessor. At  times  my  father  allowed  me  to  help  him 
in  his  literary  work." 

"You  're  the  sort  old  people  fall  for,"  said  Fran- 
ciszka, ambiguously.  "Now  look  here:  everybody  's 
got  to  look  out  for  themselves,  and  this  is  your  chance. 
Once  you  're  settled  and  doing  well,  you  can  look  out 
for  Wenceslaus,  too.  You  got  to  think  of  that." 

Wenceslaus  was  pleased  at  the  idea  of  leaving  Fran- 
ciszka's  house.  Yes,  they  would  go  away  from  here. 
And  after  a  while  they  would  go  home — back  to  their 
own  place.  Its  bareness  and  poverty  would  have  no 


144  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

terrors  for  them,  for  it  would  be  blessed  and  hallowed 
by  Pan  Florian's  indwelling  spirit.  He  spoke  to 
Marya  Jadwiga  thus,  the  next  night,  when  they 
walked  out.  And  when  they  sat  again  in  their  favorite 
haunt,  Madison  Square,  it  seemed  to  Wenceslaus  that 
the  Metropolitan  tower  was  like  a  lighthouse — a 
friendly  light  showing  them,  a  shipwrecked  old  man 
and  young  girl,  a  way  to  harbor  and  safety  and, 
presently,  Home.  Marya  Jadwiga  patted  his  hand 
consolingly.  But  she  did  not  formulate  any  plans 
for  the  future.  For  she  thought,  "My  business  with 
Them  must  be  settled  first. ' ' 

A  little  thin  Japanese  with  a  roll  of  newspapers 
in  his  hand  walked  quietly  into  view.  He  did 
not  attempt  to  sit  next  her  this  time,  but  contented 
himself  with  a  seat  opposite.  He  was  so  incon- 
spicuous that  she  could  not  be  sure  it  was  the  same 
man  who  had  given  her  the  message.  She  had  not 
really  seen  the  man  who  had  slipped  that  bit  of  paper 
into  her  hand.  This  one  apparently  had  no  interest 
in  her,  did  not  even  seem  to  see  her,  but  glanced 
around  him  with  blank,  expressionless  eyes. 

"Let  us  walk  on,"  she  said  to  Wenceslaus.  "We 
will  walk  up  one  of  these  avenues,  and  look  into  the 
shop  windows.  Then  you  can  show  me  all  the  things 
you  want,  and  I  '11  show  you  all  the  things  I  'm  not 
going  to  buy."  It  was  a  little  game  they  had,  which 
always  amused  him. 

When  they  reached  the  avenue  they  stopped,  as 
usual,  before  the  shop  windows.  It  amused  Marya 
Jadwiga  tenderly  when  she  considered  the  glaring 


THE  KITE  145 

things  Wenceslaus  always  selected  for  her,  and  which 
he  was  going  to  give  her,  ''some  of  these  days."  At 
one  window,  full  of  Oriental  stuff,  an  inconspicuous 
Japanese  paused  too,  and  drew  near  her.  For  the 
moment  they  three  were  alone,  and  without  turning 
his  head  the  man  said  in  a  low  voice  : 

"It  is  desirable  that  you  hear  the  name  of  one 
who  died  in  exile." 

"It  is  desirable  that  I  should  hear  that  name. 
Where,  please?" 

' '  The  honorable  lady  would  hear  it  now  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Marya  Jadwiga,  without  hesitation. 

"Follow  me,  please.  I  will  stop  before  a  certain 
restaurant.  Sometimes  Japanese  students  go  there. 
You  will  enter.  Order  something.  A  Japanese 
gentleman  will  come  in  presently  and  sit  at  your 
table.  It  is  arranged." 

He  walked  on,  and  Marya  Jadwiga  and  Wences- 
laus turned  from  the  window  and  strolled  after  him. 
It  was  all  very  casual.  He  turned  down  a  side  street 
after  a  while  and  paused  before  a  basement  restau- 
rant, modest  enough,  but  with  good  air.  A  very  slight 
motion  of  the  hand  told  them  that  this  was  the  place. 

A  quiet  waiter  led  them  to  a  rear  table,  and  they 
gave  their  modest  order.  Wenceslaus,  although  he 
was  not  faultfinding,  disliked  the  meals  at  Fran- 
ciszka's,  who  never  gave  anybody  overmuch  and  then 
not  of  the  best.  The  old  man  ate  slowly,  but  with  a 
relish  that  pleased  Marya  Jadwiga.  He  especially 
enjoyed  one  American  dish  which  one  called  "pie," 
and  Marya  Jadwiga  laughed  over  his  boast  that  he 


146  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

knew  so  much  English:  why,  he  could  go  into  any 
eating-place  and  say  to  any  waiter,  ' '  Pie ' ' !  Also,  he 
could  say,  ' '  Coffee. ' '  But  he  would  never,  never  say, 
"Hash,"  he  added,  and  made  a  wry  face.  One  got 
"hash"  very  often  at  Franciszka's. 

They  had  been  in  the  place  perhaps  half  an  hour 
when  the  waiter  led  the  Japanese  gentleman  to  their 
table.  He,  too,  was  of  smallish  stature,  but,  for  all 
his  quietness,  his  gentle  and  unassuming  manner,  to 
discerning  eyes  he  had  the  air  of  a  great  gentleman. 
Her  heart  pounded  in  her  breast.  This,  then,  would 
be  one  of  Them — and  one  ranking  with  her  father, 
she  decided,  swiftly.  He  gave  an  order,  and  when 
the  waiter  had  gone  to  attend  to  it,  he  addressed  her 
in  French,  in  an  exquisitely  modulated  voice: 

"It  was  not  wise  to  appear  openly  at  the  stopping- 
place  of  Miss  Fabre.  The  honorable  Countess 
Zuleska  will  understand,  and  pardon  the  roundabout 
method  employed  to  approach  her."  And  he  pre- 
sented his  card. 

Her  old  training  did  not  fail.     She  said  quietly: 

"If  the  gentleman  will  explain?  He  speaks  of  a 
Miss  Fabre  and  of  a  Countess  Zuleska." 

"Naturally,  since  the  two  are  one,"  said  the 
Japanese,  pleasantly.  "And  he  speaks  to  this  one 
in  the  name  of  that  very  noble  gentleman  the  Count 
Casimer  Zuleski,  who  died  in  exile,  in  Siberia." 

"But  still  one  would  like  to  know  how  you  know 
that  Miss  Fabre  and  Countess  Zuleska  are  one  and 
the  same,"  said  Marya  Jadwiga. 

"Our  men  are  very  carefully  selected  and  even 


THE  KITE  147 

more  carefully  trained,  Countess,"  said  he,  equably. 
''The  peddler  who  visited  your  father  was  somewhat 
of  an  artist — we  think  a  very  clever  one.  He  left 
nothing  to  chance,  you  see."  He  took  from  a  bill- 
fold several  slips  of  paper;  and  when  she  examined 
them,  she,  too,  admitted  the  peddler's  cleverness. 
The  small  drawing  of  herself  was  very  exact;  the 
sketch  of  Wenceslaus  revealing ;  and  when  she  looked 
at  the  third  sketch  she  barely  repressed  a  cry.  Just 
as  she  remembered  him  most  clearly,  in  his  old  dress- 
ing gown  and  skullcap,  his  brow  puckered  thought- 
fully, his  eyes  penetrating  and  ironical,  her  father 
looked  at  her.  She  gazed  at  the  sketch  hungrily,  and 
tried  to  keep  from  weeping.  He  was  dead.  She  was 
here,  in  exile,  an  unknown  and  doubtful  future 
facing  her  and  old  Wenceslaus.  But  as  she  gazed, 
the  pictured  eyes  seemed  to  give  their  old  command. 
Yes,  she  would  obey. 

"You  are  satisfied  with  my  credentials,  then,  Count- 
ess," said  the  Japanese.  "And — you  have  a  mes- 
sage for  me,  have  you  not  ?  From  your  father  ?  You 
will  tell  me  when  and  where  you  can  deliver  it?" 

Marya  Jadwiga  turned  pale.  She  wished,  she 
knew  not  why,  that  this  thing  had  not  been  given  her 
to  do,  and  that  this  exquisitely  polite  little  nobleman 
were  ten  thousand  miles  hence.  She  remembered 
Zuleski's  exultant  "I  am  picking  the  lock  of  Siberia! 
I  have  the  key  of  Siberia!"  and  again,  "If  you 
hear  a  yellow  man  name  my  father's  name,  over 
there,  I  shall  not  have  lived  and  worked  in  vain." 
He  was  selling  enemy  to  enemy.  It  seemed  to  her 


148  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

that  the  small  packet  of  papers  burned  her  breast 
physically.  A  blackness  came  upon  her  spirit,  and 
she  turned  paler  yet,  and  put  up  her  hand  to  hide 
her  trembling  lips.  The  Japanese  looked  distressed. 

"You  are  ill?"  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"I  feel  a  little  faint,"  she  admitted. 

"There  is  a  room  here  for  ladies.  If  you  will  go  in 
and  bathe  your  face  with  cold  water,  it  will  perhaps 
revive  you,"  he  suggested.  "We  can  then  arrange 
for  a  further  meeting. ' ' 

She  rose,  grateful  for  even  that  slight  respite. 
She  had  the  retiring-room  to  herself,  and  she  stared 
somberly  at  her  pale  reflection  in  the  mirror.  Ah! 
could  this  be  that  Marya  Jadwiga  who  just  a  little 
while  since  had  danced  with  the  breeze  and  played 
with  water  and  trees  on  summer  nights?  She  felt 
as  though  she  were  thrall  to  some  unseen,  overriding 
force,  a  blind  instrument  in  the  hand  of  something  that 
bent  her  to  its  will — something  greater  than  her 
father,  even,  or  any  human  agency. 

'She  took  from  her  breast  the  packet  for  the 
Japanese,  and  stood  looking  at  it.  Such  a  little 
package,  to  be  so  big  with  fate!  When  she  went 
back  to  Wenceslaus  and  the  Japanese,  the  papers 
were  pressed  flat  against  her  handbag.  She  was  pale 
still,  but  the  Japanese  remarked  that  she  was  quite 
composed.  He  said  respectfully: 

"I  am,  naturally,  anxious  to  have  this  business  set- 
tled, Countess,  and  I  feel  sure  that  it  will  be  a  relief  to 
you,  also.  If  you  will  tell  me  when  and  where — " 

"Here.    Now,"   said   the  girl,  in   a  spent,   tired 


THE  KITE  149 

voice.  With  a  gentle  and  reluctant  movement  she 
pushed  across  the  table  to  him  a  thin  flat  package. 
He  looked  at  her  almost  with  stupor;  he  was  more 
astonished  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life.  His 
desire  was  to  snatch  that  package  and  rush  away 
with  it.  Carry  this  on  her  person !  Expose  this, 
and  herself,  to  a  thousand  dangers!  Celestial 
powers!  All  the  time,  walking  on  the  streets,  the 
girl  had  had  this  in  her  possession — a  young  girl, 
hardly  more  than  a  child. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  for  a  moment  an  icy  wind 
touched  the  roots  of  his  hair.  He  thought  of 
Florian  Zuleski  with  something  like  terror.  What  a 
stake  the  man  had  put  up  in  his  extremity!  What 
a  man — and  what  a  girl!  A  girl  of  the  old  heroic 
type,  fit  to  mate  with  emperors  and  bear  sons  to  rule 
kingdoms !  Like  all  his  race,  he  worshiped  the  heroic, 
adored  the  high  courage  which  dares  all  for  a  great 
cause. 

He  put  out  a  hand  and  took  the  package  up  almost 
casually,  and  after  a  moment  transferred  it  to  his 
breast  pocket.  He  said,  with  quiet  admiration  and 
respect : 

"You  will  not  find  us  ungrateful,  Countess.  You 
have  accomplished  a  great  task,  done  us  a  great 
service,  and  you  will  find  us  more  than  willing  to 
show  our  appreciation.  May  I  say  I  consider  you  the 
worthy  daughter  of  your  great  father  ? ' ' 

But  her  heart  was  like  lead,  her  spirit  in  eclipse. 
It  was  in  vain  she  said  to  herself,  "It  is  for  Poland." 

"I  have  only  done  what  I  was  sent  to  do,  Baron. 


150  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

I  have  but  obeyed  orders,"  she  said,  with  stiff  lips. 
"And  now  I  will  go,  please." 

"You  are  forgetting,"  he  reminded  her  gently, 
"that  there  was  to  be  an  exchange.  "Will  you  please 
tell  me  how  you  wish  that  arranged,  and  how  I  may 
best  serve  your  interests?" 

AVenceslaus  had  not  understood  their  conversation, 
which  had  been  in  French,  but  he  understood  the 
purport  of  that  meeting,  and  he  spoke  for  the  first 
time: 

"If  he  has  anything  of  value  to  give  you  in  ex- 
change for  what  you  have  given  him,  do  not  bring  it 
into  Franciszka's  house,"  he  implored.  "No,  bring 
nothing  of  value  into  that  house.  Do  not  let  that 
woman  know  anything;  conceal  everything  from 
her!" 

Marya  Jadwiga  considered  this.  Wenceslaus  was 
right.  She  remembered  the  lost  purse  which  he  in- 
sisted he  had  left  in  his  trunk.  In  a  case  like  that 
one  had  to  suspend  judgment,  but  one  dared  run  no 
risks  now.  Better  wait  until  she  was  more  happily 
situated — say,  as  companion  to  a  pleasant  and 
wealthy  old  lady.  She  turned  to  the  Japanese  and 
explained,  briefly. 

"I  am  of  course  very  anxious  to  settle  this  affair, 
to  keep  our  promise  to  your  father  as  he  kept  his  with 
us,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "But  I  will  wait,  as  you 
think  that  best.  In  the  meantime  I  must  manage  to 
communicate  with  you. ' '  He  wondered  a  little  at  the 
simplicity  which  trusted  him  so  fully,  when,  now  that 
she  had  placed  the  papers  in  his  hands,  it  would  have 


THE  KITE  151 

been  easy  enough  to  repudiate  his  obligations  to  a 
dead  man,  and  he  liked  her  for  it.  He  was  a  great 
gentleman,  the  descendant  of  a  long  line  of  feudal 
lords,  and  the  young  girl  appealed  to  his  pride,  his 
honor,  his  gratitude.  He  knew  the  tremendous  value 
of  the  package  she  had  just  placed  in  his  hands,  and 
the  value  his  government  would  place  upon  his  ser- 
vices to-night.  He  was  too  well  trained,  too  polite,  to 
show  his  exultation;  too  proud  to  show  pride. 
They  parted  sedately,  the  Japanese  driving  off  in  his 
car,  Marya  Jadwiga  and  Wenceslaus  walking. 
Neither  of  them  had  much  to  say,  the  girl  because  she 
could  not  shake  off  her  depression,  Wenceslaus  be- 
cause, now  that  they  had  carried  out  a  part  of  the 
master's  commands,  it  was  as  though  the  master  him- 
self walked  beside  them. 

They  sat  down  again  when  they  reached  Madison 
Square.  "Wenceslaus  said  these  little  patches  of 
greenery  rested  his  eyes,  weary  of  so  much  brick  and 
stone.  Marya  Jadwiga  was  glad  enough  just  to  sit 
there  idly,  her  hands  in  her  lap.  She  felt  as  though 
she  had  been  running,  and  had  paused  to  get  breath  to 
go  on  again. 

On  a  bench  just  across  from  her  and  Wenceslaus, 
an  unkempt,  hairy  man  with  a  pair  of  fine  brown 
eyes  was  calling  the  attention  of  his  companion — a 
big  young  man,  black-haired,  blue-eyed,  clean- 
featured — to  the  old  man  and  the  young  girl. 

"That,  my  son,"  he  was  telling  his  young  friend, 
"is  beauty.  The  little  princesses  who  used  to  play 
under  the  striped  awnings  in  Shusan,  the  young 


152  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

daughters  of  Pharaoh  walking  in  Egyptian  gardens, 
the  Shulamite  woman  whom  Solomon  loved,  had  such 
black  hair,  such  cheeks  of  ivory,  such  lips  of  love. 
Eh!  I  wish  I  had  my  pencils!" 

Surrounded  by  many,  those  two  had  an  air  of  being 
alone,  of  being  different.  One  surmised  that  no 
matter  how  backgrounded  they  would  always  stand 
out  with  this  same  clear  and  sharp  distinctness. 
The  girl's  head,  turned  so  that  the  young  man  could 
see  her  delicately  aquiline  profile,  drooped  slightly. 
Her  hair  under  her  small  hat  swept  her  cheek's 
smooth,  pale  contour  like  a  blackbird's  wing. 

The  young  man  looked  at  her  with  a  sort  of  ec- 
static astonishment.  He  was  aware  of  an  impatient 
desire  to  see  her  eyes;  and,  as  though  his  desire  had 
called  to  her  audibly,  she  lifted  her  head  and  bent 
upon  him  her  luminous  regard — grave,  sweet,  steady. 
Her  face  was  as  familiar  to  him  as  the  unforgetable 
face  of  a  friend,  returned  after  long  absence. 
She  saw  his  quick  intake  of  breath.  He  held  her 
gaze  compellingly,  his  own  eyes  full  of  a  beautiful 
and  ardent  expectancy;  and  more  than  that,  a  recog- 
nition, to  which  she  subconsciously  responded.  A 
faint  color  suffused  her  cheek.  She  thought,  aston- 
ished in  her  turn :  ' '  I  seem  to  know  that  young  man. 
Surely  I  have  seen  his  eyes  before."  And  her  heart 
fluttered  its  untried  wings,  as  though  it  wished  to  fly 
out  of  her  breast  and  make  its  way  to  him.  Madison 
Square  was  of  a  sudden  changed.  The  Metropolitan 
tower,  as  Wenceslaus  had  said,  was  a  lighthouse. 

If  any  other  had  looked   at  her  so  intently,  so 


THE  KITE  153 

searchingly,  challengingly,  she  would  have  been 
terrified,  dreading  that  she  was  suspected,  that  her 
mission  was  imperiled.  No  such  fear  crossed  her 
mind  now.  This  young  man  was  not  recognizing 
Zuleski's  daughter.  He  was  recognizing — ah,  in- 
deed, what?  A  self  she  herself  did  not  know  as 
yet?  Her  real  self,  with  whom  she  must  presently 
reckon  ? 

"Let  us  go,"  she  said  to  Wenceslaus,  and  rose 
abruptly,  the  desire  for  flight  upon  her.  And  as 
they  walked  away,  she  met  the  young  man's  eyes 
again.  His  look  said,  "I  let  you  go,  but  you  will 
come  again."  Upon  them  both  had  fallen  the  en- 
chantment of  the  heart. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   HOUSE   OF   KELLY 

MR.   DOMINICK   KELLY   walked   up   and 
down   his    library    and    felt    happy.     His 
hands  under  his  coat  tails,  he  paused  from 
time  to  time  to  teeter  gently  on  his  broad  toes,  and  to 
whistle    between    his    teeth    the    fighting    tune    of 
' '  Garryowen, "  the  only  tune  he  had  ever  been  able 
to  carry. 

He  really  had  good  reason  to  be  satisfied  with 
himself  and  the  world.  What  he  had  accomplished 
alone  and  unaided  was  visible  in  the  fine  room  full 
of  fine  books  he  never  read,  pictures  which  interested 
him  chiefly  because  of  their  cost,  and  rugs  any  one 
of  which  would  have  doubled  the  entire  income  of  his 
first  years  of  struggle.  His  success  was  visible  in 
his  house ;  his  staff  of  haughty  servants,  all  of  whom 
combined  never  worked  so  hard  as  did  he;  his  sister 
Honora;  his  own  portly,  handsome  person;  but 
chiefly  and  most  resplendently  in  Brian  his  son.  It 
was  of  Brian  he  was  thinking  now — Brian's  success 
and  welfare  as  measured  by  his  own  standards. 

IThe    god    of   things    as    they    are    is   not    to    be 
worshiped  by  the  Irish  without  heterodoxy,  heresy, 
and  black  apostasy.     The  Irish  divinity  is  the  god  of 
"'  154" 


THE  HOUSE  OF  KELLY  155 

things  just  beyond.  He  is  a  god  who  fills  his 
worshipers  with  an  eternal  dissatisfaction,  but  the 
living  spirit  of  them  clings  to  his  feet.  When  their 
worship  is  pure,  we  get  singers  of  perilous  songs,  \ 
weavers  of  magic  words  that  have  upon  them  the 
shine  of  the  golden  hair  of  Angus  O'g  and  the  glint 
of  the  smile  of  Brigit  the  Bright.  We  get  leaders 
of  lost  causes — sad  and  fatal  figures,  who  are  never- 
theless a  leaven  that  leavens  the  whole  loaf  of  the 
world.  When  the  worship  of  the  god  of  things  just 
beyond  is  more  practical,  it  heckles  the  hodcarrier 
into  the  contractor,  the  cop  into  the  precinct  captain, 
the  henchman  into  the  alderman.  It  evolves  the 
Bunch  that  Bosses.  And  chief  of  the  Bunch  that 
Bosses  was  Dominick  Kelly,  who  crushed  trouble- 
some opponents  by  piling  railroads  on  top  of  them, 
or  smashed  them  by  pulling  shares  from  under  them. 

He  was  a  man  of  his  hands,  Dominick,  with  a  fine 
crop  of  thick  white  hair  covering  his  big,  round  head 
of  a  fighting-man,  and  under  a  white  military  mus- 
tache a  mouth  that  might  have  been  cut  with  a  can 
opener.  His  short,  straight  nose  was  as  belligerent 
as  a  balled  fist;  and  during  business  hours  his  deep 
gray  eyes  had  a  glint  something  like  that  which  shines 
along  a  gun  barrel. 

A  man  to  make  his  way  in  the  world,  in  any  circum- 
stances. Yet  what  behooved  it  him  to  be  a  magnate 
when  he  was  not  a  magnet?  His  was  the  deep- 
rooted  dissatisfaction  of  a  strong  man  who  has  not 
gotten  just  what  he  wants.  Provocative,  glimmering 
before  his  mind's  eye,  was  the  thing  just  beyond,  the 


156  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

thing  he  did  not  have — the  golden,  mystic  seal  of  the 
socially  elect.  Because  it  had  eluded  him,  because 
it  did  not  come  at  a  mere  nod,  he  desired  it,  intensely. 

Dominick  might  meet  men  face  to  face,  their  equal 
and  more  often  their  superior;  but  when  he  con- 
fronted the  women  of  the  world,  the  iron  entered  his 
soul.  His  Celtic  intuition  being  fool-and-vanity 
proof,  he  knew  that  to  the  best,  the  most  desirable, 
those  with  whom  he  most  wished  to  foregather,  he 
was  merely  a  buccaneering  old  Irishman  who  had 
jollyrogered  the  Golden  Fleece  on  the  high  seas  of 
finance.  He  might  wear  it  as  shamelessly,  splendidly, 
arrogantly  as  ever  a  cannibal  chief  wore  his  neck- 
lace of  knuckle  bones,  but,  nevertheless  and  notwith- 
standing, he  was  a  case-hardened  old  corsair  named 
Kelly. 

This  had  not  worried  him  while  he  was  engaged 
in  the  absorbing  game  of  arriving  in  big  business. 
His  one  idea  during  that  interesting  process  had  been 
to  climb  straight  up,  over,  and  beyond.  He  had  done 
it,  and  done  it  with  the  magnificent  ruthlessness  and 
thoroughness  of  an  Attila,  a  Tamerlane,  a  Jenghiz 
Khan.  Then  he  looked  around  for  fresh  worlds  to 
conquer.  He  said — and  he  was  quite  honest  in  the 
saying — that  he  wanted  position  because  of  Brian. 
It  was  not  at  all  necessary  for  Dominick  to  be  a  hypo- 
crite :  it  was  too  easy  for  him  to  deceive  himself ;  for, 
primarily  a  predatory  person,  he  was  not  analytical 
enough  to  understand  that  what  he  really  desired 
was  a  final,  convincing  proof  of  his  own  power — the 
ultimate  expression  of  his  ability  to  take  the  heights 


THE  HOUSE  OF  KELLY  157 

by  storm.  He  would  have  raged  like  a  lion  had  one 
so  much  as  suggested  that  Brian  was  a  peg  to  hang 
his  ambition  on. 

His  American  ancestry  began  with  him.  He 
had  neither  a  ' '  van ' '  nor  a  ' '  de  "  before  him,  nor  yet 
a  "dinck"  behind  him.  Dominick,  son  of  Jeremiah, 
son  of  Malachy,  had  tackled  life  with  but  one  asset, 
one  weapon — himself.  There  were  no  helpful  con- 
nections. Molly  his  wife,  dead  in  her  youth,  had 
been  an  exquisitely  pretty  girl  when  he  married 
her,  and  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  remained  Molly's 
lover  and  mourner.  Never  had  he  seen  woman  of 
them  all  able  to  erase  Molly's  image  from  the  living 
tablet  of  his  soul.  But,  for  all  that,  she  had  been 
nobody  but  herself.  Not  that  her  people  were  not 
respectable.  They  were — frightfully  respectable. 
Having  said  that  much  for  them,  one  may  dismiss 
them  finally,  as  Dominick  did.  He  forgave  them  for 
existing,  seeing  to  it  that  they  did  not  exist  in  his 
sight — nor  in  Brian's.  Brian  should  start  with  a 
brand-new  slate. 

Brian  was  one  of  those  people  whom  other  people 
try  to  explain  by  saying  they  were  born  lucky.  The 
stars  in  their  courses  fought  for  him.  He  was 
accorded  place  and  privilege  as  by  divine  right.  He 
never  had  to  struggle  for  anything:  things  came 
to  him  as  by  the  law  of  gravitation.  He  had  been 
sent  to  the  right  schools,  and  intuitively,  subcon- 
sciously, he  made  quite  the  right  friends.  Or,  rather, 
they  foregathered  with  him  at  sight,  loved  him, 
admired  him,  and  never  questioned  his  inborn  fitness 


158  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

to  occupy  and  ornament  the  bright  center  of  events. 
Why,  he  was  Brian!  That  sufficed. 

So  far  that  had  sufficed  his  father.  But  Domi- 
nick's  thoughts  forged  ahead.  Understanding  his 
own  lack,  he  meant  his  son  to  occupy  an  inpregnable 
position.  Why  not?  And  to  his  mind  the  best  and 
surest  way  to  bring  this  about  was  to  marry  the  boy 
to  the  daughter  of  a  family  which  was  of  the  very 
core  of  the  charmed  circle.  Let  the  boy  marry  well, 
and  his  position — and  his  children's  position — would 
be  beyond  jeopardy.  He  would  have  his  wife's 
powerful  family  connections,  buttressed  by  the  Kelly 
millions. 

Dominick's  ambition  might  be  called  a  poor  thing, 
but  it  was  his  own;  and  he  cherished  it,  clung  to  it, 
and  steadily,  obstinately,  moved  toward  it.  He  had 
his  own  stubborn  pride  in  these  plans  for  Brian,  and 
to-night  he  was  exultant  because  he  and  Philetus  Van 
Wyck  had  come  to  an  understanding. 

In  his  heart  Dominick  Kelly  was  more  than  a  bit 
contemptuous  of  Philetus  Van  Wyck  as  a  man  and  a 
manager,  but  as  a  name  and  an  opportunity  Philetus 
seemed  heaven-sent  to  Dominick's  hand.  The  dry, 
sandy-haired  Van  Wyck  cousined,  aunted,  uncled, 
sistered,  brothered,  the  august.  He  belonged  to 
sacrosanct  and  all  but  inaccessible  clubs,  in  any  one 
of  which  Mr.  Kelly  would  have  felt  about  as  much 
at  home  as  in  the  city  morgue.  He  owned  a  drafty, 
insanitary  manor  house  in  which  that  inveterate 
sleeper-out  George  Washington  had  once  spent  one  of 
his  innumerable  nights  away  from  home.  And  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  KELLY  159 

Van  Wyck  family  still  resided  in  their  red-brick 
town  house  on  Tenth  Street.  The  one  concession 
they  made  to  modernity  was  that  they  now  had  a 
chauffeur  instead  of  a  coachman,  their  carriage  horses 
having  died  in  the  last  stages  of  senile  dementia. 

Outside  the  magic  circle  of  his  blood-and-marriage 
relations,  Philetus  was  but  a  lean  and  skulking  coyote 
to  that  gray  timber  wolf,  leader  of  the  pack,  Dominick 
Kelly.  Just  as  Mr.  Kelly  despised  and  respected  Mr. 
Van  Wyck,  so  Mr.  Van  Wyck  respected  and  despised 
— and  feared  with  all  his  little  soul — Mr.  Kelly. 
They  complemented  each  other — a  fact  recognized  by 
both.  Why  not  join  forces,  then?  One  had  a  name 
and  a  daughter,  't  other  had  millions  and  a  son. 

Their  method  was  royal  in  its  high-handedness.  It 
was  an  affair  of  state,  so  to  speak.  If  one  wished  to 
be  captious,  one  admitted  that  Miss  Janet  Anneke 
Van  Wyck  left  something  to  be  desired  in  the  way  of 
personal  attractiveness.  But  Dominick  was  not  in- 
clined to  be  captious;  nor  was  it  in  his  reckoning 
that  Brian  should  be.  The  boy  had  been  allowed  to 
run  with  a  loose  rein,  to  do  as  he  pleased,  to  have  his 
head.  Dominick  had  been  tolerantly,  amusedly, 
delightedly  indulgent,  since  the  lad's  course  had 
never  run  counter  to  his  own  desires.  But  now  he 
proposed  to  have  his  reward,  and  the  boy  must  obey 
the  word  of  command. 

He  had  given  orders  that  when  Mr.  Brian  came 
in  he  was  to  come  to  the  library.  And  when  the 
young  man  presently  appeared,  his  youthful  radiance 
bringing  a  wholesome  freshness  to  the  somewhat  over- 


160  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

heavy  room,  Dominick's  pride  and  delight  in  him 
frothed  up  like  champagne.  His  lad  was  a  match 
for  the  best !  He  greeted  his  son  almost  uproar- 
iously. 

Dominick  never  beat  about  the  bush.  He  came 
to  the  point  at  once. 

"  'T  is  a  little  surprise  I  have  up  my  sleeve  for 
you,"  said  he,  gaily. 

Brian  waited.  He  was  an  imperturbable  young 
man.  He  merely  made  the  slightest  questioning 
movement  of  the  eyebrows.  All  his  surprises,  hither- 
to, had  been  pleasant  ones.  The  surprise  would  have 
been  that  anything  coming  to  him  could  by  any  pos- 
sibility be  anything  but  pleasant.  And  it  came  with 
his  father's  next  words. 

"I  have  a  wife  for  you,"  said  Dominick,  impe- 
rially. 

Brian's  fine  black  eyebrows  came  down.  A  smile 
touched  the  corners  of  his  handsome  mouth. 

"And  who,"  he  asked  equably,  "may  she  be,  this 
not  impossible  she?  Or  am  I  to  know,  before  the 
happy  day?  I  have  a  faint  interest  in  the  matter, 
remember,  Dad." 

He  smiled,  and  Dominick  smiled  back.  A  likely 
lad,  this.  Molly's,  with  Molly's  own  darling,  dark- 
blue  eyes. 

"Who  is  she,  d'ye  ask?  'T  is  Janet  Van  Wyck, 
no  less!"  Dominick  announced  it  triumphantly. 
"Little  did  I  think,  and  I  starting  out  in  life  with- 
out a  penny  to  my  name,  that  the  day  would  come 
when  the  Philetus  Van  Wycks  would  be  dam'  glad 


THE  HOUSE  OF  KELLY  161 

to  have  a  girl  of  theirs  wed  a  boy  of  mine ! ' '  And  he 
bristled  his  stiff  white  mustache. 

Brian  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  smoked  with  quiet 
pleasure;  but  his  eyes  narrowed. 

"Janet,  eh?  And  yo>u  picked  her — for  me.  You 
surprise  me,  Dad.  Disagreeably.  You  generally 
manage  to  pick  winners;  but  everybody  has  off 
moments,  even  you." 

"Have  I,  then?"  In  times  of  deep  emotion  Mr. 
Kelly,  senior,  reverted  to  the  idiomatic  speech  of  his 
youth.  "Phwat  ails  the  gurrul?  Or" — with  im- 
mense sarcasm — "is  the  son  of  Dominick  Kelly  too 
fine  and  grand  entirely  for  the  daughter  of  Philetus 
Van  Wyck?" 

"That  's  rather  beside  the  question,"  said  Brian, 
calmly.  "The  point  is  that  I  can't  be  handed 
over,  given  away  outright,  like  a  young  lady's 
poodle."  And  he  shook  his  black  head.  "Guess 
again,  Dad." 

His  easy,  unruffled  manner,  at  once  simple  and 
lordly,  irked  the  elder  man  unaccountably.  The 
neck  bristles  of  his  wolf's  temper  began  to  rise. 

"Your  grandfather,"  said  he,  clipping  his  words, 
"your  old  grandfather — God  rock  his  soul  in  glory! 
— carried  his  hod  up  a  ladder." 

"The  old  boy  went  high  in  the  world."  Brian  be- 
gan to  look  interested.  "He  never  came  down  low 
enough  to  allow  another  man  to  pick  and  choose  his 
woman  for  him,  did  he?  Neither  will  his  grandson. 
I  will  pick  and  choose  my  own,  when  and  where  I 
find  her." 


162  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"A-ah!  And  will  you,  now?  And  phwat  '11  you 
live  on  when  you  've  done  it  ?  Is  it  wind  pudding  and 
beggar  sauce  for  the  likes  of  you  that  was  fed  his  pap 
out  of  a  gold  spoon?  Let  you  listen  to  me,  mo 
bhuachailin  than:  'T  is  I  have  the  say-so  what 
you  '11  do  and  what  you  '11  not  do.  I  have  picked 
out  Janet  for  you.  You'll  marry  her:  d  'ye  mind 
that?  Will  I  let  her  likes  go  out  of  the  family  and 
we  needing  it?" 

"Why  don't  you  marry  her,  yourself,  if  she  's  so 
much  to  your  liking?  You  're  not  an  old  man! 
There  's  many  half  your  age  might  well  envy  you, 
Dad.  I  think,  myself,  that  you  're  much  too  much  too 
good  for  Janet,  but  tastes  differ." 

Dominick  choked  a  bit  at  that.  He  asked,  with 
violence : 

"Phwat  have  you  against  the  gurrul?" 

"Nothing  at  all.  I  could  wish  nature  had  been 
kinder  to  her,  for  her  own  sake,  and  that  she  had 
been  given  a  girl's  heart  instead  of  a  cat's.  Come, 
come,  Dad!  Behave  yourself!"  He  shook  his  finger 
at  his  father  as  he  spoke.  "Is  it  selling  me  outright 
you  are?  It  's  no  less  than  white-slaving!  Take 
shame  to  yourself!" 

And  he  began  to  laugh.  It  never  entered  his 
head  that  Dominick  would  prove  obdurate.  Brian 
had  always  had  his  own  way  with  his  father,  as  with 
everybody  else.  He  accepted  that  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Life  had  been  a  smooth,  straight  road  for 
Brian — a  path  to  be  traveled  with  ease,  serenity,  and 
a  buoyant  faith  in  the  inherent  pleasantness  of  things. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  KELLY  163 

He  was  therefore  unhurried,  unflurried,  and  a  bit 
slow-thinking,  never  having  been  called  upon  to  tap 
his  reserve  forces. 

"You  '11  marry  her."  His  father's  chin  stuck  out. 
Men  who  knew  Dominick  Kelly  looked  around  for 
cyclone  cellars  when  his  jaw  hardened  and  his  chin 
stuck  out. 

"Pardon  me  for  having  to  contradict  you,  Dad, 
but  I  '11  do  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"I  '11  show  you!  You  with  your  cars  and  your 
cups  and  your  pups,  and  your  blue  ribbons  for  this 
and  for  that ! — and  me  footing  the  bills,  begod !  You 
with  your  clubs  and  your  prancing  and  dancing  and 
gallivantings  with  your  idle  vagabonds  of  friends! 
D  'ye  think  I  'm  your  Aunt  Hon,  to  be  twisted  around 
your  little  finger  ?  I  'm  not,  then !  It  's  me  you  *re 
dealing  with  this  night,  me  bold  lad.  You  '11  marry 
who  I  mean  you  to  marry ;  you  '11  do  every  other  dam ' 
thing  I  tell  you  to  do,  or  I  '11  know  why,  by  the 
hokey!" 

"You  may  know  why  right  now,  sir:  I  do  not  like 
the  lady.  You  exhibited  very  good  taste  in  the  selec- 
tion of  your  own  wife.  Why  should  you  try  to  foist 
upon  me  a  congenital  old  maid?  If  God  meant  her 
for  any  one  thing,  I  should  think  it  might  be  the 
head-governess  of  a  home  for  delinquent  cats.  I 
won't  have  her.  Life  is  too  short!"  And  when  the 
elder  man,  purple-faced  and  all  but  apoplectic, 
started  to  speak,  Brian  held  up  a  restraining  hand. 

"My  dear  Dad,  listen:  you  know  the  building-and- 
contracting  game  and  the  banking  and  railroad  game 


164  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

from  the  roots  up;  else  we  shouldn't  be  living  in 
this  house.  You  know  politics;  the  biggest  are  your 
pals.  You  can  say  to  one,  'Go'  and  he  beats  it,  and 
to  another,  '  Come, '  and  he  falls  over  himself  arriving. 
It  has  been  said  that  for  a  stranger  to  meet  you  per- 
sonally calls  for  a  letter  of  introduction  from  the 
Pope,  or  at  least  the  President.  But  there  are  some 
things  you  do  not  seem  to  know  much  about,  and  that 
you  must  learn  to  keep  paws  off — little  things  like  men 
and  women,  and  their  affections  for  one  another,  dear 
Dad.  One  man  may  lead  another  to  the  altar,  but 
all  New  York  can 't  make  him  marry  Janet  Van  Wyck 
against  his  will." 

"One  man  can  manage  it  fine  and  easy,  me  brave 
Brian,  if  he  happens  to  hold  the  nose  bag — meaning 
the  pocketbook.  I  have  asked  you  will  you  marry 
this  gurrul.  Now  I  'm  telling  you  fair  you  must. 
'T  is  me  will." 

"You  're  not  telling  me  fair,  and  you  're  not 
playing  fair.  And  your  will  is  not  mine."  said 
Brian,  sturdily.  "If  it  were,  I  'd  make  it  in  your 
favor,  and  then  jump  overboard  with  a  bar  of  lead 
for  a  life-preserver." 

"You  damned  id  jit!"  roared  Dominick.  "Let  me 
catch  you  daring  to  drown,  and  I  '11  disown  you  on 
the  spot !  Do  it,  and  I  '11  murder  you ! ' ' 

Brian  laughed,  and  his  father,  controlling  himself 
by  a  violent  effort,  said  more  gently: 

"Brian  aroon,  I  mean  you  well,  and  that  's  why 
I  'm  wedding  you  to  Janet.  Remember  who  she  is 
and  who  she  's  kin  to,  and  then  tell  me  who  are  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  KELLY  165 

Kellys.  Who  's  kin  to  you?  Me  and  Hon.  That  's 
all !  A  fine,  upstanding  lad  you  are,  and  I  'm  mean- 
ing you  to  have  the  best.  For  why  should  I  work 
like  a  Turk  unless  it  's  to  get  the  best  for  my  own? 
This  gurrul  has  the  ancestors  and  the  name  and  the 
kith  and  kin.  Marry  her,  and  so  will  you  have,  and 
your  children  after  you.  Philetus  Van  Wyck's 
grandchildren  with  Dominick  Kelly's  money  and 
brains !  'T  is  grand  they  '11  be  entirely,  and  I  'd  die 
happy  could  I  see  them. 

''We'll  have  a  grand  wedding.  'Twill  be  like 
royalty's, — no  less, — with  the  newspapers  full  of  it, 
and  all  our  pictures,  and  the  bride's  petticoats  and 
all,  in  the  Sunday  papers,  and  a  list  of  guests  and 
presents  the  length  of  your  arm.  I  '11  have  a  cardi- 
nal say  the  words.  Faith,  I  wish  't  was  in  my  power 
to  have  the  holy  father  himself  brought  over  on  a 
special  liner,  for  my  son 's  wedding !  He  'd  do 
it  for  me  willing,  was  he  let!  You  can  have  this 
house  as  it  stands.  Furnish  it  all  over  as  you  please 
— damn  the  expense  and  you  marrying  to  please  your 
old  father!  'Among  the  presents  was  the  million- 
dollar  Kelly  residence  and  a  check  for  a  million 
dollars  from  the  bridegroom's  father,  Alderman 
Kelly,  the  eminent  contractor  and  builder,  President 
of  the  Three  Railroads  System,  the  Two-Star  Copper 
Trust,  the  Eightieth  and  Ninetieth  Banks,  and  Vice- 
president  of  the  Silverline  Smelting  Company,  Incor- 
porated.' '  Dominick  spoke  dreamily,  unctuously,  as 
one  who  glimpses  a  beatific  vision. 

Brian  stood  up — a  tall  and  most  beautiful  young 


166  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

man,  clear  red  and  white  from  a  life  spent  health- 
fully out  of  doors  and  lived  cleanly  and  with  joyous- 
ness.  When  he  moved,  the  muscles  rippled  like  lights 
on  quiet  water,  and  the  Psalmist  David  would  surely 
have  changed  his  mind  and  taken  pleasure  in  the  legs 
of  a  man  like  this.  He  had  the  thin  flanks,  the  slim 
waist,  the  clear  and  sure  eye  and  freshness  of  skin  of 
the  conditioned  youngster  who  has  time  to  play,  and 
who  plays  for  the  love  of  the  game.  Never  hav- 
ing had  to  worry  about  anything,  he  was  almost 
criminally  good-natured.  But  now  he  looked  at 
his  father  with  a  new  something  growing  in 
his  fine  eyes.  The  aspect  of  Dominick's  character 
so  crudely  made  visible  and  articulate,  in  the 
speech  just  uttered,  jarred  upon  his  son  pain- 
fully, and  cheapened  the  old  man.  It  was  as  though 
he  were  bent  upon  proving  his  own  assertion  that  the 
Kellys  were  nobody.  It  smacked  of,  say,  the  steer- 
age. 

"Don't  talk  like  that,  Dad,"  he  said,  a  bit  roughly. 
"It  's  nonsense.  You  are  worth  all  the  Van  Wycks 
ever  born.  And — I  can't  do  what  you  want  me  to 
do.  Good  Lord,  Dad!  I  can't,  you  know!" 

"Brian — "  Dominick  Kelly  turned  pale  and  began 
to  tremble — "Brian,  have  you  the  face  to  tell  me  to 
my  teeth  that  you  won't  do  as  you  're  bid — and  you 
meaning  it?" 

"I  wish  you  wouldn  't  put  it  like  that,  Dad.  Look 
here,  I  '11  begin  to  get  angry  if  you  keep  on ! " 

"You  '11  not  do  as  I  bid  you?" 

"Not  in  this  instance.    Why,  man,  I  can't!    No- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  KELLY  167 

body  alive,  not  even  you,  shall  pick  out  my  girl  for 
me.  I  '11  do  my  own  picking,  if  you  please ! ' ' 

His  head  went  up.  Dominick  knew  he  meant  what 
he  said,  and  that  his  cherished  plans  were  being 
brought  to  naught. 

"Will  you  please  to  walk  out  of  my  house  and  do 
it,  then?" 

Brian  stared  at  him.  For  a  moment  he  was  silent 
with  astonishment.  Then,  quite  suddenly,  his  jaw  be- 
gan to  harden,  his  chin  to  look  like  Dominick 's  own. 
The  bases  of  his  character  began  to  show  as  the 
graces  of  his  temperament  were  swept  aside. 

"I  'm  frank  to  say  I  'd  rather  not.  I  don't  think 
Janet  is  worth  it.  But  I  will  not  be  bullied.  And 
you  may  as  well  understand  this:  if  you  make  me 
walk  out,  I  won't  walk  in  again.  I  '11  stay  out,  for 
keeps." 

"You  will  that!  Devil  a  doubt  but  you  '11  stay 
out !  I  '11  cut  you  off  with  a  shilling.  I  '11  have  the 
servants  set  upon  you  if  you  dare  show  the  dog 's  face 
of  you  inside  my  doors  again!  What  I  choose  and 
plan  and  work  for  isn't  good  enough  for  you:  very 
well,  then,  me  fine  laddybuck,  let  you  bring  me  better 
to  please  me,  before  I  call  you  son  of  mine  after  this 
night!" 

"Better  look  before  you  leap,  Dad.  I  'm  not  an- 
gry with  you  yet,  remembering  you  're  the  only 
father  I  have,  and  I  'm  your  only  son.  But  I  might 
take  you  at  your  word,  you  know.  Look  here,  Dad: 
let  's  quit  talking  like  this !  Sleep  on  it :  you  '11  be 
all  right  in  the  morning." 


168  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"None  of  your  minanderin'!  Get  out!"  roared 
Dominick,  suddenly  swept  off  his  feet  by  the  rage 
that  all  but  choked  him.  "Get  out  now!  My  son 
does  as  I  bid  him,  or  he  's  son  of  mine  no  more.  Get 
out !  Let  's  see  how  you  can  shift  for  yourself,  my 
fine  gentleman  ! ' '  Purple-faced,  with  clenched  fists, 
he  raged  up  and  down.  He  had  lost  all  control  of 
himself;  and  Dominick  in  a  royal  rage  was  an  un- 
loosed elemental  force. 

It  seemed  to  young  Brian  Kelly  that  for  the  first 
time  he  was  seeing  his  father  as  he  really  was — crude, 
brutal,  ruthless,  bending  all  things,  even  his  son's  life, 
to  his  own  will  and  pleasure.  It  was  a  painfully  un- 
pleasant experience  for  the  young  man,  but  it  roused 
his  easy-going  temper  and  his  heretofore  half -slum- 
brous will  into  activity  and  opposition.  Under 
this  whip  and  spur  he  became  of  a  sudden  aware 
that  he  was  a  man,  with  his  own  fate  in  his  own 
hands. 

He  said  thoughtfully: 

' '  There  's  something  to  that — showing  you,  and  me 
too,  that  I  could  shift  for  myself  if  I  had  to.  I  won- 
der if  it  's  decent  for  a  man  of  my  age  to  have  to  won- 
der. I  've  been  so  busy  being  your  son  that  maybe 
I  'm  spoiled  for  being  my  own  man.  How  do  I  know 
until  I  Ve  tried  ?  Sure  I  '11  get  out !  And  no  hard 
feelings,  Dad.  Outside  of  the  Van  Wyck  notion, 
you  're  a  trump." 

"Oh,  you  can't  softsawder  me,  you  seditious  whip- 
persnapper!  Out  you  go,  and  out  you  stay!  I  've 
finished  and  done  with  you.  Me  that  's  spent  his 


THE  HOUSE  OF  KELLY  169 

thousands  on  you,  and  the  first  time  I  call  for  divi- 
dends you  don't  even  own  stock!  But  mind  you 
this :  I  'm  not  called  on  to  support  a  big  lummox  of  a 
stranger,  and  that  's  what  you  '11  be  after  this  night 's 
work.  Marry  who  you  will — devil  take  the  hussy ! — 
she  '11  be  naught  to  Dominick  Kelly ;  and  see  you  tell 
her  so  before  she  marries  you.  I  wash  my  hands  of 
you.  And  you  needn't  wait  till  morning,  thinking 
I  '11  dry  them!" 

' '  Thank  Heaven  I  missed  your  temper,  Dad ! ' '  said 
Brian,  still  studying  his  father  disconcertingly,  and 
with  an  easy  command  of  himself  that  maddened 
Dominick.  ' '  I  must  have  come  by  mine  from  Mother 
and  Aunt  Hon.  I  shall  have  to  ask  leave  to  go  up- 
stairs to  my  rooms  for  a  few  minutes,"  he  added, 
with  pleasant  politeness.  "I  '11  leave  a  note  for 
Aunt  Hon.  And — so  long,  Dad.  I  'm  sorry  you 
didn't  get  your  dividends,  and  that  you  have  to  be 
disappointed  in  me.  And,  on  second  thoughts,  I 
advise  you  not  to  marry  Janet.  You  'd  regret  it  for 
the  rest  of  your  life." 

He  walked  out  of  the  room,  meeting  in  the  hall  the 
tall  English  butler,  who  for  once  in  his  life  was 
shaken  out  of  his  Buddha-like  calm.  He  had  heard 
the  bull  bellowings  of  the  master  of  the  house,  and 
sensed  that  a  cataclysm  impended.  If  young  Mr. 
Brian  left,  the  butler  meant  to  give  notice  immedi- 
ately. It  was  young  Mr.  Brian  who  lent  an  air,  a 
tone,  to  the  establishment. 

''Pack  my  suitcases  so  that  I  may  be  neat  but  not 


170  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

decorative,  Perkins.  I  'm  leaving  home;  going  adven- 
turing," Mr.  Brian  told  his  man,  lightly.  "That 
new  gray  tweed  you  've  been  saying  is  not  becoming 
to  me,  you  may  have.  And  while  this  is  a  bit  sud- 
den, and  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  part  with  you,  I 
sha'n't  need  you  after  to-night." 

Perkins  seemed  to  emerge  from  a  temperamental 
reserve : 

"Very  well,  sir.  But — Mr.  Brian!  You  will  never 
find  another  who  creases  you  as  I  do.  I  shall  never 
find  another  who  may  be  trusted  not  to  bag.  What 
shall  you  do  without  me,  Mr.  Brian?" 

"Perkins,"  said  Brian,  seriously,  "that  is  just  the 
point:  what  shall  I  do  without  you?"  He  sat  on  the 
edge  of  his  bed  and  hugged  his  knees.  "You  are 
the  iron  collar,  the  auger-holed  ear,  the  badge  of  my 
servitude,  Perkins.  Now  we  have  come  to  the  part- 
ing of  the  ways.  I  shall  miss  you  like  the  very 
deuce,  but — safety  first!" 

Perkins  looked  bewildered.  He  asked,  with  a  gulp : 
"May  I  ask,  sir,  where  you  think  of  going — for 
the  time  being?  Because  I  could  come  at  certain 
hours  and  look  your  things  over,  sir.  I — ah — 
would  n  't  be  any  expense  to  you,  Mr.  Brian. ' '  A  shoe 
on  each  hand,  he  looked  at  his  whilom  master,  blush- 
ingly.  "I  am  aware  that  gentlemen  take  it  for 
granted  their  servants  have  no  human  feelings,  sir ;  but 
we  have.  You  may  be  surprised,  sir,  but  indeed  we 
have !  You — ah — arouse  an  amount  of — pardon  the 
liberty  of  my  mentioning  it,  sir — of  human  affection 
in  those  who  serve  you,  Mr.  Brian.  And  so  I — I 


THE  HOUSE  OF  KELLY  171 

must  insist,  sir,  upon  coming  in  at  intervals  and 
looking  after  your  things.  It  would  make  for  my 
peace  of  mind,  sir." 

Brian,  still  nursing  his  knee,  smiled  his  wide, 
friendly  smile.  His  smile  was  one  of  the  reasons  why 
he  aroused  a  certain — a  very  certain — amount  of 
human  affection  in  those  who  served  him. 

"I  shouldn't  like  to  be  guilty  of  destroying  your 
peace  of  mind,  Perkins,"  he  said.  "You  are  a  good 
fellow,  and  Heaven  forbid  that  uncreased  I  should 
meet  you  on  the  street ! "  He  added,  after  a  moment 's 
reflection:  "I'm  going  to  the  club  to-night.  After 
to-night,  I  dont  know  where  I  'm  going,  or  what  I  'm 
going  to  do  after  I  get  there." 

Brian  wrote  a  note  to  his  Aunt  Honora,  which  was 
to  be  delivered  presently,  and  when  Perkins  had 
packed  his  bags  was  ready  to  "get  out."  From  force 
of  habit  Perkins  ordered  the  car,  and  from  force  of 
habit  the  disinherited  one  accepted  it,  without  thought. 
So  departed  young  Brian  from  the  House  of  Kelly, 
leaving  rage,  speculation,  consternation,  regret,  and 
— when  Perkins  had  delivered  his  note  to  Miss 
Honora — anguish,  behind  him. 

Miss  Honora  Kelly,  fifty-nine  years  old,  with  an 
autumnal  rose  in  her  cheeks  and  a  late  sunlight 
lingering  in  her  eyes  and  hair,  was  an  old  maid.  She 
gave  the  effect  of  early  evening  in  the  woods,  with  a 
late  bird  singing,  and  an  early  star  rising  over  the 
trees  from  whose  tops  the  sunset  had  not  yet  de- 
parted, and  a  vesper  bell  ringing  in  the  distance. 
Her  lips  seemed  to  have  just  finished  a  Hailmary, 


172  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

and  her  smile  was  like  a  child's  and  an  old  woman's. 
She  wore  browns  and  grays;  and  when  she  walked 
her  dress  made  a  soft,  silken  rustling.  She  was  of 
the  children  of  light,  than  whom  the  children  of  the 
world  are  wiser  in  their  generation,  of  course.  She 
had  been  lying  down  that  afternoon,  with  a  slight 
headache.  She  was  subject  to  slight  headaches,  and 
in  this  alone  indulged  her  flesh.  She  read  Brian's 
hasty  note  thrice  before  she  asked  Perkins : 

"Where  is  my  brother?" 

Perkins  thought  Mr.  Kelly  was  still  in  the  library. 
Miss  Honora  immediately  went  downstairs,  opened 
the  library  door  without  knocking,  and  stood  like  a 
gray  silk  Accusation  before  the  big  figure  slumped 
into  a  chair. 

He  had  not  moved  since  Brian's  departure — not 
even  when  he  heard  the  front  door  close  upon  the  boy. 
A  decanter  and  a  box  of  cigars  stood  untouched  at  his 
elbow.  His  face  was  like  a  thundercloud,  across 
which  streaks  of  lightning  flashed  intermittently. 
Lifting  his  haggard  eyes  to  his  sister's  face,  he 
rumbled  threateningly. 

"Brother  Dominick!" 

Brother  Dominick  made  another  inarticulate  noise 
in  his  throat,  and  glared. 

"What  have  you  done  to  Brian,  Brother  Dominick? 
He  writes  that  he  is  leaving  the  house.  Leaving  the 
house!  Our  Brian!" 

"I  have  done  nothing  to  him,  Honora  Kelly.  But 
I  am  done  with  him.  For  good  and  all  I  am  done 


THE  HOUSE  OF  KELLY  173 

with  him."  And  he  demanded  truculently,  "And 
what  have  you  to  say  about  it  ? " 

"Done  with  Brian? — our  Brian?  You  might  just 
as  well  say  you  have  done  with,  living ! ' '  said  she, 
aghast.  "Gracious  Heaven,  Brother  Dominick!  have 
you  lost  your  senses?  Why,  Brian  is  all  we  have!" 
And  she  looked  at  Dominick  with  as  much  horror  as 
if  she  had  caught  him  trying  to  commit  murder. 

"Oh,  and  is  he,  now?" 

"Isn't  he?  What  else  have  we  got  brother? 
Nothing !  nobody !  neither  chick  nor  child,  the  pair  of 
us,  but  just  Brian.  What  have  we  prayed  and  worked 
and  hoped  for,  Brother  ?  Brian.  What  do  I  live  for  ? 
Brian!  I  held  him  a  motherless  baby  in  my  arms, 
Dominick  Kelly!  I  have  nursed  and  slapped  and 
loved  him  and  been  proud  of  him  and  grateful  to 
God  for  him  all  his  life.  Oh,  Brother,  what  have 
you  done?  I  always  dreaded  you  would  bring  black 
sorrow  to  you  and  yours,  with  your  frightful  temper 
and  your  arrogant  and  overbearing  spirit,  and  now 
you  have  done  it!" 

"Woman,  will  you  hold  the  clattering  tongue  of 
you,  and  not  drive  me  wild  entirely  with  your  noise? 
Is  it  standing  up  to  my  face  you  are,  telling  me  I  Ve 
not  done  my  duty  by  that  undutiful  rapscallion?" 
demanded  her  brother,  with  somber  violence.  "And 
me  spending  not  hundreds  but  thousands,  as  well  you 
know,  to  make  a  gentleman  of  him ! ' ' 

"God  did  that  to  begin  with,  Brother  Dominick. 
And  who  else  would  you  spend  your  thousands  on, 


174  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

if  not  your  own  flesh  and  blood? — and  he  all  you 
have,  and  a  credit  to  the  name ! ' ' 

"Oh,  ho!  God  did  it  all,  did  He?  But  it  was  me 
worked  like  the  devil's  self  to  finish  the  job  proper, 
I  'm  thinking ! ' '  snarled  Dominick. 

''It  was  the  most  worth-while  work  you  ever  did, 
then,  Dominick.  Take  the  truth,  Brother,  since  you 
force  me  to  tell  it !  Brian  is  a  gentleman  not  because 
of  the  money  you  have  lavished  on  him  but  in  spite 
of  it!  It  is  because  he  is  a  gentleman  that  he  has 
the  courage  and  the  faith  and  the  manhood  to  with- 
stand you  when  you  are  in  the  wrong.  For  you  are 
in  the  wrong,  Brother  Dominick — altogether  in  the 
wrong ! ' '  The  old  dove  faced  the  old  eagle  fearlessly. 

"The  boy  's  a  fool,"  said  he,  sourly.  "Any  one  fs 
a  fool  that  won 't  and  can 't  see  which  side  his  bread  is 
buttered  on.  That  I  should  live  to  see  the  day  I  'd 
have  to  say  I  was  father  to  a  fool!  It  didn't  come 
hard  to  me  that  he  took  no  prizes  and  won  no  honors. 
He  was  that  thick-skulled  I  had  hopes  he  would  be 
the  finest  gentleman  of  them  all.  And  he  was,  faith, 
from  the  looks  of  him!  He  had  so  much  looks  and 
so  little  sense  you  'd  never  guess  it  was  just  a  decent, 
plain  man 's  son  he  was :  you  would  misdoubt  he  had 
been  born  in  a  red-brick  rat-hole  off  Washington 
Square,  with  a  Dutch  name,  and  a  pedigree  equal  to  a 
Chow's  the  fine  madams  take  prizes  with.  Who 
would  think  by  looking  at  him  he  was  born  in  a  flat  in 
Jersey  City,  with  an  honest,  God-fearing  man  like 
Jeremiah  Kelly  for  his  grandfather?  Oh,  'tis  a  sad 
thing  to  be  a  father!  Thinks  I,  and  coming  on  in 


THE  HOUSE  OF  KELLY  175 

the  world,  'Here  I  am,  with  Molly's  lad  and  mine, — 
God  rest  her  soul! — and  a  fine  gentleman  I  '11  make 
of  him.  He  has  the  looks  and  I  '11  have  the  money. 
Faith,  there  's  nothing  he  sha'n't  have!'  Look  at 
me  this  night,  woman,  and  say  have  I  done  it  or  have 
I  not?" 

"You  have  made  the  money  for  him,  Dominick. 
Sometimes  I  wish  you  hadn't.  Sometimes  I  think 
you  have  made  too  much  money,  Brother,  and  that  it 
has  changed  and — and  hurt  you.  But  it  was  not 
you  nor  your  money  that  made  Brian  what  he  is:  it 
was  God  that  made  him  a  gentleman." 

"Leave  God  keep  him  one,  then,  without  help  of 
mine;  and  in  spite  of  me,"  said  Mr.  Kelly  grimly, 
and  a  brogue  like  cream  rose  upon  his  speech. 

"He  will!"  said  the  sweet  old  maid,  with  quiet 
passion.  ' '  Now  mark  my  words,  Dominick !  You  are 
not  punishing  Brian :  you  are  losing  him.  And  he  is 
your  one  child.  You  are  swindling  yourself.  For 
what,  Dominick?"  She  looked  at  him  somewhat  as 
Brian  had  looked  at  him  a-  little  while  since.  ' '  Oh,  my 
poor  rich  Dominick!"  said  Miss  Honora,  "I  am  sorry 
for  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  this  night!" 
Without  another  word,  with  her  head  held  high,  she 
left  him. 

The  contractor  and  builder  who  had  made  himself 
a  multimillionaire  and  a  power  in  politics,  swore 
under  his  breath  as  the  door  closed  upon  his  sister's 
silk  skirts.  He  felt  outraged,  injured,  deserted.  All 
his  life  had  he  toiled,  he  reflected,  for  Brian's  ulti- 
mate glory  and  advancement;  and  now,  in  the  twin- 


176  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

kling  of  an  eye,  all  his  fine  plans  had  tumbled  about 
his  ears.  What  to  say  to  Philetus  Van  Wyck  he  did 
not  know.  And  Honora  the  meek,  Honora  the  saint, 
had  turned  upon  him  like  a  tiger,  siding  with  the  re- 
calcitrant, and  putting  him,  Dominick,  in  the  wrong ! 
Good  God!  the  trouble  a  man  has  with  his  own 
family ! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  BEAUTIFUL.   COP 

1  TlMMY,"  said  Brian  Kelly  to  his  bosom  friend, 

I     James  Darlington,  "what  would  you  say  I  'm 

^w    just  a  little  more  than  particularly  good  at? 

Consider  this  seriously,  please.     I  have  really  got  to 

do  something.    What  can  I  do  best,  Jimmy?" 

They  had  been  classmates,  though  Jimmy  was 
Brian's  senior  by  three  or  maybe  four  years.  If 
Brian  got  through  college  on  his  own  legs  and  the 
willing  shoulders  of  worshipers,  it  was  the  enraged 
wonder  of  sorely  tried  professors  why  Jimmy  was 
there  at  all.  Yet,  when  they  were  not  trying  to  teach 
him  things  he  did  not  wish  to  learn,  they  liked  him : 
he  had  traits  which  endeared  him  to  others.  He  was 
generous  and  likable.  He  sang  well  enough,  in  a 
reedy  tenor.  He  had  a  futurist  sense  of  the  value  of 
colors.  He  could  rub  his  thumb  on  a  door  with  the 
effect  of  a  South  Sea  boa-boo,  at  the  same  time  skil- 
fully playing  on  a  hair  comb  over  which  was  stretched 
a  bit  of  tissue  paper.  He  could  make  himself  and 
others  comfortable  with  a  minimum  of  thought  and 
effort.  He  knew  no  more  Greek  than  the  letters  on 
his  frat  pin — but  was  not  that  enough?  Along  with 
Kelly,  B.,  he  enjoyed  an  immense  popularity;  one 
might  call  it  a  vogue. 

177 


178  TWO  SHALL  BE  BOKN 

No  two  humans  could  have  been  more  dissimilar; 
therefore  they  were  inseparable  friends.  In  the 
Kelly  epic,  Jimmy  Darlington  might  be  said  to  play 
the  not  unimportant  part  of  Chorus.  In  a  play  he 
might  have  been  written  down,  "  James,  his  friend." 

He  had  a  large  and  powerful  family  connection 
and  a  share  in  an  estate  so  rigidly  trusteed  that  he 
knew  neither  poverty  nor  riches.  He  was  not  hand- 
some enough  to  be  dangerous,  nor  homely  enough  to 
be  unpleasant  to  the  eye;  not  intelligent  enough  to 
bore  fashionable  friends,  nor  stupid  enough  to  tire  in- 
telligent ones;  he  was  not  rich  enough  to  be  stalked 
for  big  game,  nor  poor  enough  to  be  shunted  into  the 
background  and  kept  there.  He  really  occupied  a 
very  enviable  position,  and  was  cheerfully  allowed  to 
follow  the  lines  of  least  resistance.  If  he  had  one 
real,  deep,  red-blooded  emotion,  it  centered  around  the 
colorful,  vibrant  figure  of  Brian  Kelly. 

"What  can  you  do?"  Jimmy  was  genuinely 
amazed.  "What  are  you  good  at?  You  're  good  at 
jolly  well  everything  a  chap  can  be  good  at !  Why, 
look  at  your  record!" 

"Yes,  look  at  it,"  said  Brian,  without  enthusiasm. 
"I  seem  to  be  good  at  everything  except  something. 
Now  I  Ve  got  to  find  out  whether  I  'm  good  at  any- 
thing in  the  pay-check  line." 

"Kell,  you  're  not  being  led  astray  by  one  of  those 
dames  that  turn  down  perfectly  good  chaps  because 
they  have  too  much  money  and  don 't  do  anything  but 
be  decent  with  it,  are  you?" 

When  Brian  Kelly  laughed,  his  under  lip  curved  and 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  COP  179 

his  eyes  crinkled  and  he  proved  that  no  dentist  could 
hope  to  grow  affluent  on  his,  account.  He  laughed 
now. 

"I  've  never  known  a  girl  who  hated  me  because 
of  my  bank  account,"  he  confessed. 

" Thank  God  to  hear  you  say  so!"  said  Jimmy. 
"That  at  least  proves  you  aren't  afflicted  with  de- 
lusions. ' ' 

He  knew  there  had  been  a  split  in  the  House  of 
Kelly,  but  whether  it  was  a  permanent  rupture  or  a 
temporary  tiff,  he  was  not  sure.  He  was  not  un- 
acquainted with  Dominick,  who  inspired  him  with 
real  terror. 

"Hanged  if  he  doesn't  look  as  if  he  'd  just  finished 
eating  the  baby  for  an  appetizer ! ' '  complained  Jimmy. 
"Abysmal  brute,  cave  man,  Neanderthal-skull  chap, 
unretired  pirate — that  's  Dominick  K.  for  you. 
Dashed  unpleasant  person  to  have  for  a  parent.  If 
he  did  n't  snatch  his  son  out  of  somebody  else's  pram, 
I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  see  how  they  're  kin." 

Dominick  Kelly's  opinion  of  Mr.  James  Darlington 
was  expressed  by  a  significant  grunt.  He  had  too 
profound  a  respect  for  the  young  man's  gilt-edged 
connections  to  admit  aloud  that  their  youthful  rela- 
tive was  an  unmitigated  ass,  but  Jimmy  had  the  pleas- 
ing conviction  that  he  thought  so. 

"Let  's  think  this  thing  over  carefully,"  said  he, 
looking  profound.  "What  's  wrong  with  the  movies, 
for  instance  ?  You  've  a  face  and  a  shape  that  ought 
to  be  worth  real  money.  The  movies  pay.  Why, 
man,  look  at  the  headliners  sending  home  the  coin 


180  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

in  a  motor  truck  every  Saturday  night !  That  's  the 
stuff!  Acting  comes  easy.  Remember  the  time  I 
played  the  Idiot  Son  in  our  frat  farce,  and  brought 
down  the  house?  It  was  no  trouble  at  all!  Why 
not  buck  the  movies,  Kell?" 

"Because  the  headliners  have  got  more  brains  in 
their  feet  than  I  have  in  my  head,"  admitted  Kell, 
modestly.  "Think  of  something  else." 

"M-m-m-m,"  mumbled  Jimmy,  seeking  inspira- 
tion. "Model!  Artist's  model!" 

' '  I  am  poor  but  virtuous, ' '  said  Brian.  ' '  Wake  up : 
you  are  dreaming  Robert  W.  Chambers!" 

"Well,  but  what  do  you  want  to  do?"  worried 
Jimmy,  wrinkling  his  slender  brows.  "Chaps  that 
have  grit  enough  to  get  in  Dutch  with  governors  like 
yours  generally  have  grit  enough  to  do  other  haz- 
ardous stunts.  When  you  were  a  kid  wasn't  there 
something  you  especially  hankered  to  be? — some- 
thing you  liked  better  than  anything  else?  Because 
if  there  was,"  said  Jimmy,  impressively,  "very 
probably  that  is  it. ' ' 

Brian  considered,  hands  in  his  pockets,  legs 
stretched  out,  brow  puckered. 

"I  wanted  to  be  a  policeman,"  he  reflected. 
"When  a  cop  spoke  to  me  I  was  happy  all  day.  I 
knew  it  was  a  daring  ambition;  but  I  thought  that 
maybe  if  I  kept  the  Ten  Commandments  and  the 
Eight  Beatitudes,  Heaven  might  reward  me  by  allow- 
ing me  to  grow  up  into  a  cop." 

"Gad!  the  nerve  of  you!  Wanting  to  be  a  cop!" 
said  Jimmy,  admiringly.  "Shows  the  innate  great- 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  'COP  181 

ness  of  you,  Kell,  even  in  your  infancy.  If  you  'd 
wanted  to  be  President,  now — but  a  cop!  Well, 
that  's  your  reward  for  getting  yourself  born  Irish, 
I  dessay.  Wanting  to  be  a  cop!  My  sainted 
aunt!" 

"Jimmy,"  said  Brian  Kelly,  in  a  voice  of  convic- 
tion, ' '  you  may  not  know  it,  but  you  're  a  wonder ! 
You  've  unsnarled  my  tangle.  You  've  hit  the  nail 
squarely  on  the  head.  Here  I  am,  four  and  twenty, 
six  feet  barefooted,  ironwood  slats,  the  digestion  of 
an  ostrich,  no  entangling  alliances,  and  the  chance  to 
be  a  cop!  I  am  going  to  be  a  cop.  How  does  one 
set  about  becoming'  a  cop,  Jimmy?" 

Mr.  Darlington  didn't  know. 

"But,"  said  he,  "the  commissioner  dines  with  my 
Aunt  Martha  every  now  and  then.  Sort  of  Day  of 
Atonement,  I  fancy.  My  Aunt  Martha  was  his  god- 
mother, or  cousin,  or  something.  Or  maybe  he  mur- 
dered somebody,  or  embezzled  some  orphan-asylum 
funds,  and  she  found  out  about  it  and  makes  him 
dine  with  her  by  way  of  penance.  If  not,  why 
should  he  go  there?  You  can't  imagine  what  a 
bad  dinner  really  is,  Kell,  until  you  've  dined  at 
my  Aunt  Martha 's.  I  say,  suppose  I  accept  her  invi- 
tation, eh?  It  happens  that  I  've  just  got  one. 
She  'd  love  me  to  bring  you  along.  She  hates  young 
men  like  the  devil,  and  it  's  her  one  chance  to  get  a 
whack  at  us;  don't  you  see?  Suppose  we  cheer  up 
the  penitential  spread  for  the  commissioner?  I 
should  think  he  'd  be  willing  to  make  you  a  precinct 
captain  to  start  with,  if  we  could  do  that!" 


182  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"I  've  never  dined  with  your  Aunt  Martha,  so  I 
can't  say,"  said  Brian,  cautiously. 

"Wait  until  you  do!  You  '11  feel  that  all  flesh  is 
grass  and  that  you  're  eating  it,  like  Nebuchad- 
nezzar," said  Jimmy,  darkly. 

"Anyhow,  I  'm  going  to  be  a  cop,"  said  Brian, 
cheerfully.  "It  's  a  great  relief  to  have  one's  im- 
mediate future  settled.  Now,  what  do  I  do  next? 
Better  be  off  with  the  old  love  before  I  am  on  with 
the  new,  I  should  think.  I  '11  send  in  my  resigna- 
tions. I  'm  going  to  drop  out,  Jimmy." 

"You  're  burning  your  breeches  behind  you  in 
rather  a  hurry,  aren't  you?"  remonstrated  Jimmy. 
' '  See  here,  old  man :  anything  I  have,  anything  I  can 
do—" 

' '  Thanks.  But  I  have  a  bet  with  myself  to  see  this 
thing  through  alone." 

"There  's  not  really  something  else  on,  Kell? 
Yon  're  not  just  spoofing? — teaching  D.  K.  his 
proper  place  as  a  parent?  This  isn't  a  jolly  old 
lark?"  His  voice  was  pleading.  He  was  not  a 
strong-minded  person,  and  the  thing  contemplated  by 
his  friend  left  him  mentally  staggering.  "Maybe 
there  might  be  some  basis  for  negotiations?" 

Brian  disliked  to  mention  a  lady's  name.  It  made 
him  feel  ridiculous  to  have  Janet  Van  Wyck  brought 
forward  as  the  cause  of  his  uprooting.  But  Jimmy 
might  as  well  know  the  worst. 

"Well,  it  was  either  Janet  Van  Wyck  or  get  out," 
he  admitted  unwillingly. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  COP  183 

Jimmy  did  not  laugh. 

"Run  and  get  yourself  made  a  cop  before  he  can 
catch  you!"  he  gasped.  "My  God!  Janet  Van 
Wyck!  For  you?  Hand  you  over,  scalp  and  bones, 
to  Janet  Van  Wyck?"  His  breath  failed. 

"Exactly!"  said  Brian.  And,  with  an  unmoved 
face,  he  proceeded  to  write  his  resignations.  He 
made  a  clean  sweep  while  he  was  at  it. 

"The  only  club  for  a  cop  is  the  one  in  his  fist,"  he 
explained. 

The  admirable  Perkins  attended  to  the  sale  of  his 
master's  personal  effects,  displaying  commendable 
zeal  and  driving  a  shrewd  bargain.  Thanks  to  him, 
the  sale  paid  off  all  outstanding  debts.  Brian  was 
left  with  exactly  one  hundred  and  sixteen  dollars  and 
his  clothes. 

In  the  meantime,  cautious  inquiries  enabled  Jimmy 
Darlington  to  ascertain  that  the  commissioner  was 
really  to  be  one  of  the  guests  at  his  Aunt  Martha's 
forthcoming  dinner,  and  he  had  no  difficulty  in  se- 
curing an  invitation  for  Brian,  though  his  aunt  looked 
at  him  with  instant  suspicion.  Why  should  James, 
usually  so  fruitful  of  excuses,  now  eagerly  seek  her 
house  and  wish  to  bring  another  young  man?  Some 
woman  guest?  She  would  watch  James! 

That  dinner  was  worse,  even,  than  Brian  had  been 
led  to  expect.  The  dining-room  was  hung  with  red, 
like  a  medieval  executioner.  The  enormous  black- 
walnut  sideboard  resembled  a  hearse ;  the  viands  were 


184  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

funeral  baked  meats  served  to  depressed  mourners. 
Jimmy  involuntarily  walked  on  his  tiptoes,  and  looked 
self-conscious,  subdued,  and  out  of  place. 

"Aunt  Martha  bears  a  strong  family  resemblance 
to  the  sideboard,  doesn't  she?"  murmured  the  duti- 
ful nephew.  ' '  Gad !  she  's  even  got  on  plumes,  like 
state  obsequies !  Kell,  that  gloomy  duffer  over  there, 
waiting  to  be  sentenced  to  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until 
dead,  is  your  man.'' 

The  commissioner  did  not  often  meet  graceless 
youth  in  that  abode  of  all  the  deadly  virtues,  and  he 
greeted  it  with  a  perceptible  lightening  of  his  gloom. 
He  observed  the  manner  of  his  hostess  to  these  two 
guests,  and  it  warmed  his  heart  toward  them. 

Presently  he  turned  to  young  Kelly: 

"What  brought  you  here?" 

"You,"  said  Brian,  promptly,  struggling  manfully 
with  an  unconquerable  slab  of  roast. 

"I?"  The  commissioner's  eyebrows  went  up. 
"Better  give  it  up,"  he  counseled,  watching  the  young 
man's  vain  efforts.  "It  took  a  long,  long  time  to 
find  that  aged  cow  and  do  her  to  death!  I  am  con- 
vinced they  had  to  resort  to  a  machine-gun."  He 
scowled  at  his  plate,  graced  with  just  such  another 
slice  of  unconquerable  cow. 

"You  lose,"  said  Brian,  firmly.  "This  roast  was 
indubitably  hacked  from  the  rump  of  one  of  the 
pope 's  bulls — say,  the  one  sent  to  Henry  the  Eighth. ' ' 

The  commissioner  stroked  his  mustache,  and 
regarded  young  Kelly  speculatively. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  COP  185 

"What  did  you  want  to  see  me  about?"  he  won- 
dered. 

''I  want  to  be  a  cop,"  said  Brian,  directly.  "I 
want  you  to  put  me  on  the  force." 

The  commissioner,  detecting  no  signs  of  levity, 
looked  puzzled. 

"I  received  the  impression  that  you  were  young 
Kelly — Dominick's  son,"  he  ventured. 

"Right:  I  am  Dominick's  son.  But,"  added 
Brian,  with  a  charming  smile,  "you  mustn't  hold  me 
against  my  father.  It  's  not  his  fault  I  'm  not — well, 
different." 

The  commissioner  ceased  to  be  a  bored  guest  at  a 
frightfully  dull  and  uneatable  dinner,  and  became 
the  alert  executive,  the  cool,  discerning  judge  of  men. 
He  felt  himself  drawn  to  this  one.  Decidedly,  he 
reflected,  it  was  not  Dominick's  fault  that  this  frank 
and  engaging  youngster  was  not — well,  different. 
He  wondered  who  the  mother  had  been.  Must  have 
been  good  stuff  there.  But — a  cop?  Dominick's 
son?  It  sounded  insane. 

"What  is  this,  anyhow?  A  joke?  A  bet?  A 
whim?"  he  asked  good-humoredly. 

"No,  a  job,"  said  Brian,  briefly.  He  added,  deter- 
minedly, "My  job." 

"You  and  your  father — er — disagreed,  didn't 
you?  There  was  a  rumor — "  The  commissioner 
hesitated. 

"Yes,  we  disagreed.  If  you  know  my  father  per- 
sonally— " 


186  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"I  do,  well.  But — why  a  cop?  Young  men  of 
your  sort — " 

"Why  not?  I  'd  be  a  good  one.  Better  take  me 
on.  What  do  I  do  first,  please?" 

"You  come  to  my  office  to-morrow  at  eleven,"  said 
the  commissioner,  after  a  long  pause.  And  he  be- 
gan to  laugh.  "Young  man,"  he  added,  "you  have 
amused  and  interested  me.  You  are  Dominick's  son, 
and  I  have  known  Dominick  a  good  many  years. 
Great  man,  your  father!  I  shall  probably  wake  up 
some  morning  to  find  myself  kicked  out  of  office  over- 
night, for  having  listened  to  your  siren  song  this 
evening.  Or  very  likely  you  '11  take  my  job  away 
from  me,  yourself,  if  you  want  it.  However  that 
may  be,  you  come  to  my  office  to-morrow  at  eleven. 
And  that  which  is  to  happen  will  happen. ' ' 

"Bismillah!"  said  Brian  Kelly,  joyously. 

The  commissioner  put  him  on  traffic  duty,  because 
he  was  a  very  big,  very  personable  and  level-headed 
young  man;  and  such  are  needed  for  the  traffic  jobs. 
Traffic  men  take  orders  from  the  City  Hall;  but  al- 
though the  City  Hall  knew  Dominick,  it  did  not  know 
this  young  man  for  Dominick's  son.  It  knew  him 
as  a  youngster  of  his  hands.  He  may  have  been  taken 
on  by  favor  of  the  commissioner,  but  his  name  was 
Kelly,  and  he  looked  and  lived  up  to  it. 

As  it  was  not  desirable  to  place  the  Big  Un's  boy 
where  he  might  be  seen,  recognized,  and  commented 
upon  by  whilom  friends,  he  was  placed  on  duty  at 
Seventh  Avenue  and  Bleecker  Street.  Had  he  been 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  COP  187 

plunged  down  in  another  world  altogether,  it  would 
not,  it  could  not  have  been  stranger  to  Brian  Kelly. 
Here  was  a  New  York  he  did  not  know. 

Around  one  corner  he  could  see  and  smell  the  highly 
spiced  tide  of  Italian  life  flowing  by.  Within  a 
stone's  throw  Bohemia,  natural  and  unnatural, 
played,  painted,  danced,  wrote,  and  dined — and 
talked,  talked,  talked — in  stuffy  little  cafes  with  ab- 
surd names,  where  most  of  the  decorations  seemed  to 
have  been  communicated  on  a  ouija-board. 

All  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  and  women  eddied 
in  this  whirlpool  in  which  Officer  Kelly,  at  fixed 
hours,  formed  a  sort  of  center.  He  learned  the  awe- 
some language  of  truck-drivers  and  taxi  chauffers; 
he  heard  the  patter  of  poseurs,  of  pseudo-bohemians, 
and  raucous  polyglot  cries  in  divers  tongues,  like 
echoes  from  Babel. 

Vast-bosomed  foreign  women,  bearers  of  many  ba- 
bies, laboring-people,  hordes  of  children,  girls  fac- 
ing life  with  gay  courage,  young  men  with  hungry 
mouths  and  dissatisfied  eyes,  appealed  to  him  im- 
mensely. He  sensed  their  reality;  he  felt  his  own. 
A  vast  change,  working  in  silence,  was  taking  place 
in  Brian  Kelly. 

"My  whole  duty,"  he  told  Jimmy  Darlington, 
several  months  later,  "consists  in  preventing  fools 
from  becoming  unbecoming  corpses,  and  in  restrain- 
ing drivers  of  vehicles  from  committing  voluntary 
and  involuntary  manslaughter.  It  's  a  gay  life ! ' ' 
But  he  knew  that  his  day  meant  more  than  that:  he 
knew  he  had  bridged  the  gulf  between  make-believe, 


188  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

playing  at  something,  and  being  and  doing  the  thing 
itself. 

As  strong  as  Samson  and  as  beautiful  as  David, 
with  the  conscience  of  a  small  boy  and  the  complexion 
of  a  belle,  Policeman  Kelly  was  not  one  to  be  passed 
over  lightly  and  casually  by  the  discerning.  The 
poseurs — the  praters  of  art  and  form  and  expressing 
one's  soul — overlooked  him  at  first:  their  attention 
had  not  yet  been  directed  to  him,  and  they  never  dis- 
cover anything  for  themselves.  Ladies  who  lived 
in  rooms  with  tomato-red  floors,  and  dull-blue  walls 
decorated  with  paintings  that  looked  like  crewel- 
work,  passed  him  by  unheeding:  he  looked  too  much 
like  three  meals  a  day  and  a  steady,  unesthetic  job! 
He  was  obvious;  and  the  obvious  is  not  an  expres- 
sion of  the  soul. 

But  one  noonday  a  man  who  had  a  studio  on  Mac- 
Dougal  Street  caught  a  glimpse  of  Policeman  Kelly's 
profile,  retraced  his  steps,  stared,  and  whistled.  And 
presently  there  went  forth  among  the  few  quiet 
workers  who  sweat  out  their  stuff,  word  that  the 
young  Apollo  had  come  to  town  and  was  masquer- 
ading as  an  Irish  cop  at  Seventh  Avenue  and 
Bleecker  Street,  or  maybe  it  was  Hermes  himself, 
who  had  changed  his  caduceus  for  a  night-stick. 
Here  was  stuff  of  the  gods!  The  man  from  Mac- 
Dougal  Street,  who  could  sketch  from  memory,  passed 
and  repassed,  stared  hungrily,  and  went  back  and 
did  swift  impressions.  He  had  found  the  face  he 
wanted  for  his  posters — the  face  of  youth,  serious  and 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  COP  189 

gay,  serene  and  beautiful.  And  lie  had  caught  it 
on  a  cop ! 

* '  He  looks  like  a  young  god  with  good  morals.  And 
probably  his  ideal  doesn't  rise  above  taking  the  par- 
lor maid  to  the  movies  on  his  night  off,"  he  thought, 
at  once  envious  and  contemptuous.  "My  God!  this 
is  a  crazy  world ! ' ' 

Brian  had  stayed  for  a  while  in  Jimmy  Darling- 
ton's rooms,  at  Jimmy's  almost  tearful  request.  But 
the  rooms  of  a  fashionable  clubman  are  not  exactly 
the  proper  background  for  a  policeman,  as  the  police- 
man himself  pointed  out.  A  change  of  quarters  was 
imperative.  A  grizzled  veteran  of  a  desk  sergeant 
recommended  the  home  of  the  Widow  Callaghan,  in 
Charlton  Street,  just  around  the  corner  from  the 
new  officer's  station. 

"Tell  her  Jawn  Clancy  sent  ye,  and  wishes  't  was 
himself  she  'd  be  takin'  in,"  said  the  sergeant,  and 
rubbed  a  huge  hand  across  his  mouth. 

The  house  in  Charlton  Street,  one  of  a  row,  was  of 
red  brick  mellowed  by  time.  Charlton  Street  is  still 
immensely  prepossessing,  and  its  old  residences  have 
not  yet  lost  their  "air."  The  beautiful  white  door 
with  its  fanlight,  the  steps  with  wrought-iron  rail- 
ings, the  dignity  and  simplicity  of  an  unpretentious 
age  were  delightful.  Window  boxes  and  striped 
awnings  brightened  the  sober,  pleasantly  faded  front. 
There  were  attic  rooms,  large,  airy,  exquisitely  clean. 

The  house  still  retained  its  best  features — paneled 
white  woodwork  in  the  halls  and  in  the  big  square 


190  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

rooms.  There  were  fine  mantels  and  folding  doors. 
The  Widow  Gallaghan  clung  to  her  walnut  furniture 
•of  early  Victorian  type,  her  flowered  carpets,  her 
whatnots  full  of  cottage  Staffordshire,  her  patch- 
work quilts,  her  old  albums  and  holy  pictures.  They 
fitted  into  the  Charlton  Street  house  admirably,  and 
were  altogether  satisfactory. 

She  gave  Brian  the  back  attic  room,  from  whose 
dormer  window  he  could  see  a  bit  of  Bleecker  Street, 
just  around  the  corner.  Over  the  bed  hung  a  Good 
Shepherd  with  a  sentimental  lamb  in  his  arms;  a 
meek  Madonna  smiled  from  the  mantel,  and  a  small 
colored  statue  of  Saint  Joseph  holding  a  Baby  in  one 
arm  and  a  spray  of  lilies  in  the  other  hand,  stood  on 
a  table  flanked  by  a  big,  shabby  rocker.  The  speck- 
less  windows  had  white  curtains,  and  on  their  ledges 
were  pots  of  white  and  red  geraniums  and  of  ivy. 
Simple  and  old-fashioned  as  the  room  was,  some  magic 
touch  seemed  to  have  been  laid  upon  it  which  breathed 
of  peace  and  home.  That  magic  touch  was  Colette 
O 'Shane's. 

The  Widow  Callaghan,  an  apple-cheeked,  blue-eyed, 
white-haired  body  in  the  cleanest  of  stiffly  starched 
house-dresses — she  called  them  "wrappers" — had 
an  Irishwoman's  appreciation  of  youth  and  a  police- 
man. She  herself  had  three  sons,  her  new  lodger 
learned — Tom,  the  eldest,  ''named  for  his  father,  God 
rest  his  soul";  James,  who  was  a  printer;  and  the 
youngest,  John,  who  was  a  college  student  and  would 
some  day  be  a  priest. 

Tom,  a  grave  man  of  thirty-five,  an  engraver  by 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  COP  191 

trade,  came  of  a  Sunday  afternoon  to  visit  his 
mother,  bringing  with  him  five  young  devils  rang- 
ing in  years  from  pink-and-white  four  to  freckled 
fourteen,  and  in  mischief  from  Dan  to  the  uttermost 
borders  of  Beersheba.  These  last  instantly  bestowed 
their  affection,  trust,  and  whole  allegiance  upon 
Brian  Kelly.  They  heeled  him  like  five  puppies. 
He  could  not  put  his  foot  down  without  stepping  on  a 
visiting  young  Callaghan. 

What  astonished  him  was  his  own  immediate  lik- 
ing for  them,  the  quite  new  feeling  they  aroused  in 
him.  Their  demoniac  ingenuity  in  finding  out  things 
which  should  not  be  done  and  instantly  doing  them, 
the  strategic  quality  of  the  defense  they  put  up  when 
cornered  red-handed,  the  plausibility  of  their  alibi 
when  a  loophole  of  escape  offered  itself  to  throw  mis- 
guided elders  off  the  scent,  won  his  appreciative 
admiration.  Small  Robert  Emmet's  fat  little  fingers 
clinging  to  his  hand,  the  sturdy  little  legs  trying  to 
keep  pace  with  his  long  stride,  gave  him  an  odd, 
pleasant  sense  of  potential  f  atherliness. 

The  son  who  was  a  printer,  a  quiet,  studious  young 
man,  belonged  to  several  clubs,  outside  his  own  union. 
His  friends  came  of  nights  to  talk  with  him,  and 
these  class-conscious,  level-heaJed,  thoughtful  work- 
ingmen  gave  the  erstwhile  fashionable  clubman 
cause  for  considerable  thought.  If  the  range  of  their 
reading  astonished  him,  their  interpretation  of  what 
they  read  astonished  him  even  more;  their  opinion 
of  the  class  from  which  he  had  lately  dropped  set 
him  to  wondering  at  the  difference  in  points  of  view. 


192  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

Brian  was  not  of  the  stuff  of  which  radicals  are 
made,  and  some  of  the  things  asserted  by  these  prole- 
tarians made  him  smile  inwardly.  But  on  the  whole 
they  were  almost  abnormally  sane  and  sure,  and  very 
often  they  were  unanswerable. 

On  the  other  hand,  what  of,  say,  Jimmy  Darling- 
ton as  a  type  ?  Jimmy  toiled  not,  neither  did  he  spin, 
nor  yet  gather  into  barns.  Apparently,  Jimmy 
frivoled.  Yet  for  kindliness  and  sincerity,  for 
friendship,  where  was  one  to  discover  Jimmy's  supe- 
rior ?  Slow-thinking  Brian,  learning  to  use  all  of  his 
brain,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  glad  he 
would  be  very,  very  dead  before,  in  its  march  of  prog- 
ress and  utilitarianism,  the  race  would  have  elimi- 
nated the  Jimmy  Darlingtons.  A  world  full  of 
nothing  but  useful,  working  people  was  not,  somehow, 
alluring  to  the  imagination. 

Perhaps  we  should  have  to  change  our  minds  and 
revise  our  estimates  of  usefulness.  Decorative  people 
— people  who  by  the  mere  act  of  living  and  being 
themselves  grace  the  world,  like  the  lilies  of  the 
field — may  be  quite  as  necessary  to  progress  and  social 
well-being  as,  say,  printers  and  policemen.  Colette 
O 'Shane  explained  that  to  Brian.  Colette  was  both 
useful  and  decorative. 

She  had  come  to  the  Callaghans  on  the  death  of 
her  mother,  a  French  milliner.  Her  father,  also 
dead,  had  been  in  some  inexplicable  and  roundabout 
way  kin  to  somebody  who  was  kin  to  Mrs.  Callaghan ; 
the  latter  was  not  sure  how.  But  they  acknowledged 
the  claim,  as  the  Irish  will,  and  the  child  was  wel- 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  COP  193 

corned.  Tom,  who  was  not  married  then,  sent  the 
little  girl  to  the  Sisters'  day-school,  and  saw  to  it 
that  she  had  the  music  lessons  her  heart  craved. 

The  apple  of  the  family  eye,  the  child  grew  up  as 
vivid  as  a  redbird.  You  would  think  a  girl  with 
olive  skin  would  have  brown  hair  and  eyes.  Co- 
lette's hair  was  pale  gold,  her  eyes  a  gray  that  could 
deepen  to  the  black  of  the  Cliffs  of  Moher  on  a  dark 
day.  She  had  the  look  of  a  nun — a  nun  who  might 
choose  for  a  father  confessor,  say  Anatole  France. 
She  had  her  mother 's  skill  with  the  needle,  and  put  it 
to  good  use:  she  designed  theatrical  costumes  for  a 
great  firm.  But  she  wanted  more  of  life  than  could 
be  stitched  down  with  a  needle.  She  did  not  go 
a-hunting  for  emotions,  because  she  had  sense  enough 
to  know  that  they  must  come  of  their  own  accord, 
pounce  upon  one  unawares,  if  they  are  to  be  genuine. 
She  was  level-headed  and  heart-whole.  In  the  mean- 
time she  made  the  red-brick  house  on  Charlton  Street 
a  home  which  reflected  her  own  individuality. 

She  accepted  Brian  as  she  accepted  everybody,  but 
with  a  warmer  appreciation.  The  Widow  Callaghan 
herself  loved  him  at  sight. 

"And  you  have  no  mother,  lad?"  she  had  asked 
him.  Regret  was  in  her  voice. 

"She  died  before  I  was  a  year  old." 

' '  Eyah,  what  a  pity !  Herself  would  be  the  proud 
woman  could  she  see  you,"  said  the  mother  of  three 
men. 

' '  I  like  to  think  she  does, ' '  said  the  policeman  unex- 
pectedly. 


194  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"As  the  saints  do,"  agreed  the  widow.  "Glad  we 
are  to  have  her  son  under  our  roof,  and  myself  will 
do  the  best  I  can  do  by  you."  Doing  her  best  meant 
mothering  him  as  she  mothered  her  own,  with  unob- 
trusive, watchful  affection. 

If  the  kind  soul  could  have  liked  any  young  man 
better  than  Brian,  it  would  have  been  Jimmy  Dar- 
lington. She  had  welcomed  him  at  first  as  a  young 
man  who  did  credit  to  the  store  from  which  he 
bought  his  clothes.  She  judged  he  would  be  an  office 
man. 

Later  she  welcomed  him  for  his  own  sake.  Life 
without  Brian  being  somewhat  unthinkable  for 
Jimmy,  he  fell  into  the  habit  of  haunting  the  Calla- 
ghan  house,  waiting  for  Brian  to  come  home.  The 
printer  and  his  friends,  discussing  the  wrongs  of  the 
proletariat  and  the  utter  sinfulness  of  inherited  per- 
sonal property,  did  not  know  that  the  amiable  young 
man  listening  to  them  with  puzzled  attention  was  one 
of  the  Idle  Rich.  He  was  as  clean-living  as  they  were : 
manicured  nails  do  not  necessarily  imply  immoral- 
ity. That  he  spoke  French  very  well — he  had  learned 
it  in  his  nursery  by  his  mother's  strict  decree — en- 
abled him  to  translate  a  passage  on  sabotage,  and 
impressed  them  favorably.  The  page  on  sabotage  im- 
pressed him  very  unfavorably,  and  it  relieved  him  to 
hear  the  American  workmen  outspoken  against  it. 
"A  damned  dirty  way  of  doing  business,"  they 
called  it.  "I  'd  love  to  catch  any  cur  trying  to 
sabotage  one  of  our  big  presses,"  said  the  printer, 
grimly.  "No,  that  's  not  the  way.  It  's  not  right." 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  COP  195 

One  of  the  men  looked  up  at  that — Sprengel,  a 
linotype  operator,  a  fair,  quiet  man  with  cold  blue 
eyes. 

"For  the  Cause,  every  way  that  hurts  the  enemy 
is  the  right  way ;  and  orders  are  always  to  be  obeyed, ' ' 
he  said. 

Ensued  an  outbreak  of  excited  talk.  Jimmy 
remembered  it  afterward — the  faces  all  turned  to  the 
calm  Sprengel,  the  gestures,  the  denying  voices,  and 
Sprengel 's  unmoved,  rocklike  reiteration  and  reasser- 
tion: 

"No:  when  you  fight,  you  fight.  Laws?  When  you 
win  your  fight,  you  make  laws  to  govern  the  next 
fight.  That  is  all.  Until  you  have  power  to  make 
those  laws — your  laws — you  must  use  what  weapons 
come  to  your  hand.  And  obey  orders." 

There  was  something  patient,  immovable,  logical 
about  the  man  as  he  went  on  elucidating  the  supe- 
riority of  concerted  mass  action  over  individual  will, 
choice,  or  even  morals.  He  impressed  his  auditors. 
One  saw  the  stupendous  thing  he  conjured  up.  They 
grumbled  that  the  idea  was  logical,  but  the  thing 
could  not  be  done. 

Sprengel  smiled. 

"You  are  too  individual,  you  Americans.  You 
split  in  factions.  You  think  in  very  small  groups. 
You  think  as  Westerners,  as  Easterners,  as  South- 
erners, as  Northerners;  you  don't  think  collectively. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  American  thought.  It  is 
the  same  way  with  Labor:  it  thinks  as  ironworkers, 
as  shipbuilders,  as  printers,  as  bakers,  as  every  trade 


196  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

by  itself;  it  does  not  think  as  united  Labor.  But 
Capital  thinks  always  as  Capital.  It  has  one 
thought,  one  aim.  It  is  united.  That  is  why  it  is 
strong  and  you  are  weak.  Now,  suppose  any  move- 
ment or  any  people  should  concentrate — think  as 
one,  act  as  one,  move  straight  forward  with  all  its 
power,  all  its  force.  "Who  or  what  is  to  stop  it? 
Suppose,  let  us  say,  that  such  a  people  should  exist, 
and  you  Americans,  you  scattered  Americans,  stood 
in  its  way.  What  would  stop  it,  do  you  think?" 

For  a  moment  uneasy  silence  fell  upon  the  pleasant, 
homely  dining-room.  The  thing  was  not  probable; 
it  was  starkly  ridiculous  to  suppose  it,  but — 

Then  up  rose  young  Jimmy  Darlington  and 
clenched  his  nice  white  hands  with  their  polished 
nails. 

"Why,  confound  you,  I  would!" 

"How  so?"  asked  Sprengel,  politely. 

But  Jimmy  did  not  answer,  for  somebody  laughed 
lightly,  and  he  looked  toward  the  doorway,  where  she 
stood. 

She  had  taken  off  her  hat  in  the  hall,  and  the  lamp- 
light glittered  on  her  pale  gold  hair,  and  her  gray  eyes 
were  blacker  than  mountain  pools  at  midnight,  and 
the  dimple  in  the  corner  of  her  laughing  mouth 
danced  impishly.  Her  glance  of  mockery  played  over 
Sprengel  understandingly,  swept  the  others  more 
lightly,  and  dwelt  upon  Jimmy  bafflingly. 

He  stared  back  at  her,  as  helpless  for  the  moment 
as  any  hulking  apprentice.  The  fashionable  club- 
man, the  graceful  idler,  the  tried  and  true  stand-by 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  COP  197 

of  many  a  debutante,  was  merely  a  young  man  look- 
ing at  the  one  woman.  Something  of  the  quality  of 
that  fixed  regard  must  have  reached  her  conscious- 
ness, for  she  changed  color  and  turned  her  head  aside 
quickly,  so  that  the  long  jet  earrings  which  she  wore 
as  only  a  Latin  woman  may  wear  earrings,  showed 
black  and  lustrous  against  the  creamy  olive  of  her 
cheek.  She  waved  her  hand  lightly  to  the  com- 
pany, all  of  whom  were  watching  her  with  the  wistful 
eyes  of  young  men  looking  at  a  fair  and  love-com- 
pelling woman.  And  seeing  that  the  glamour  of  her 
had  fallen  upon  them,  she  laughed  again,  and  went 
away  with  her  fawn-like  motion. 

Jimmy  Darlington  sat  staring  after  Colette 
0 'Shane.  Without  so  much  as  a  by-your-leave-sir 
his  heart  took  nimbly  to  its  heels  and  ran  after  her, 
never  to  leave  her  until  it  should  have  ceased  to  beat. 

So  was  settled  Jimmy's  fate,  all  because  Brian 
Kelly  refused  to  obey  orders,  and  preferred  to  become 
a  beautiful  cop! 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  OLYMPIAN  IDIOT 

POLICEMAN  KELLY  chewed  the  cud  of  re- 
flection, the  rind  of  the  bittersweet  fruit  of 
the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil.  He  had  just 
given  half  a  month 's  salary  to  the  widow  of  an  officer 
killed  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty.  There  were  six 
crying,  frightened  children;  the  woman  was  dumb 
with  despair. 

Policeman  Kelly's  reflections  were  perturbed,  as 
befits  a  young  man  whose  point  of  view  is  in  process 
of  transformation,  whose  philosophy  of  life  and  ethics 
is  in  process  of  becoming.  Perhaps  the  dead,  fresh 
to  the  other  side,  experience  the  same  bewildered 
reaction  and  readjustment. 

Yet  all  the  time  a  slowly  growing  light  was  diffus- 
ing itself  in  his  mind  and  suffusing  his  heart,  reveal- 
ing the  face  of  duty  and  pointing  the  way  to  service, 
those  two  immortal  lighthouses  which  save  mankind 
from  shipwreck.  The  young  man  was  becoming 
acquainted  with  himself.  And  while  he  fished  care- 
less or  timid  or  venturesome  members  of  the  populace 
from  under  the  wheels  of  raving  chauffeurs,  and  was 
a  competent  cog  in  that  miracle  of  traffic  regulation 
which  keeps  New  York  from  becoming  a  city  of 
slaughter,  this  new  introspection  went  on. 

198 


THE  OLYMPIAN  IDIOT  199 

He  watched  the  charity  of  the  poor  to  the  poor ;  he 
watched  society's  efforts  to  dab  salve  on  sore  spots. 
He  remembered  on  what  pleased  terms  he  had  been 
with  himself  when  he  attended  charity  bazaars  at 
which  he  paid  quadruple  their  value  for  useless 
articles,  because  some  laughing  girl  of  his  acquaint- 
ance had  bidden  him  buy  it  to  help  the  poor;  and 
when  he  had  tossed  to  an  interesting  or  an  importu- 
nate beggar  a  coin. 

He  recalled  that  whenever  his  father  had  been 
highly  successful  in  a  deal,  he  had  given  the  church 
some  trifle,  like  an  altar,  or  a  stained-glass  window, 
or  a  carved  reredos,  or  maybe  a  marble  baptismal 
font — all  neatly  tagged  "The  gift  of  Do'minick 
Kelly."  Now,  why  should  notable  gifts  bestowed 
with  great  heartiness  and  without  regard  to  cost, 
by  a  wealthy  churchgoer  upon  his  favorite  church, 
put  a  sudden  bitter  taste  in  the  mouth  of  a  police- 
man? 

''And  yet  he  's  a  great  old  boy,  my  father  is," 
Brian  reflected.  "Only  he  didn't  make  his  money 
with  the  best  of  himself;  he  piled  up  millions  with 
his  worst  traits  on  top.  It  doesn't  take  the  best 
sort  of  brains  to  make  money — as  much  money  as  my 
father  and  the  men  like  him  accumulate.  It  takes 
greed  and  graft  and  -cunning;  you  Ve  got  to  make 
hog-and-tiger  instincts  work  overtime,  and  tuck  con- 
science and  mercy  instincts  away,  if  you  want  to  get 
where  my  father  and  his  friends  are.  And  I  used  to 
be  satisfied !  Good  God !  I  used  to  be  satisfied ! ' ' 

He  wondered  what  his  father  would  say  if  he  could 


200  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

see  him  now.  That  Dominick  might  meddle  didn't 
trouble  him:  he  knew  his  father  well  enough  to 
realize  that  having  washed  his  hands  of  him  Dom- 
iniek  would  let  him  savagely  alone — at  least  for  the 
present,  and  while  his  anger  lasted.  Dominick  had 
already  had  it  announced  that  Brian  had  suddenly 
gone  to  join  a  hunting-party  which  was  exploring  the 
wilder  portions  of  Canada.  There  was  no  date  set 
for  his  return.  This  story  had  been  featured,  and 
Brian  had  smiled  grimly  at  his  own  photographs  and 
fancy  cuts  of  himself  in  togs  which  were  a  New 
Yorker's  notion  of  what  a  fashionable  young  man 
would  wear  in  the  wilds.  He  was  grateful  to  his 
father,  though,  for  that  strategical  move,  as  it  cov- 
ered his  retreat.  He  felt  pretty  secure.  The  average 
New  Yorker  never  looks  at  a  policeman's  face,  any- 
how— only  at  his  eloquent  paws. 

He  was  growing  accustomed  to  being  a  sort  of 
unofficial  city  directory,  an  active  member  of  the 
society  for  the  prevention  of  youthful  mortality,  a 
rescuer  of  old  women,  an  answerer  of  idiotic  and 
otherwise  questions,  a  lender  of  carfare  to  the  car- 
fareless.  He  learned  to  look  Irishly,  but  not  too 
Irishly,  into  the  admiring  eyes  of  pretty  workwomen, 
and  searchingly  into  the  eyes  of  certain  gentlemen  of 
jaunty  attire  and  highly  polished  nails  and  address. 
He  could  psychoanalyze  the  pifflers  who  play  about  in 
their  ain 't-it-natural  Bohemia.  They  might  just  as 
well  behave  like  fools  about  art  as  about  anything 
else,  he  reflected.  They  had  to  be  fools  about  some- 
thing! They  could  not  help  not  being  real.  People 


THE  OLYMPIAN  IDIOT  201 

cannot  help  being  or  not  being  what  they  are  or  are 
not. 

On  a  certain  memorable  afternoon  a  flat-heeled  girl 
in  a  flaming  smock  and  a  young  man  in  a  fawn- 
colored  hat  had  paused  beside  him  on  their  way 
across  the  street.  "The  soul  is  not  a  curve,"  the 
young  man  in  the  fawn-colored  hat  was  insisting 
firmly.  "It  is  a  cube — a  primordial,  prismatic  cube!" 

"Yes:  we  must  find  its  cube  root!"  said  the  girl 
in  the  flaming  smock,  reverently.  "And  thus  we 
have  the  soul!  I  will  snatch  the  sunlight  and  paint 
a  cube ! ' ' 

Policeman  Kelly  looked  after  the  girl  who  was  go- 
ing to  snatch  the  sunlight  and  paint  a  cube.  He 
thought  she  was  more  likely  to  snatch  a  dime  and 
buy  a  cone,  and  he  grinned  delightedly.  And  at  that 
moment  a  large,  white,  square-fingered  hand  was  laid 
on  his  blue-coated  arm,  and  he  turned  to  meet  the 
blue,  bespectacled  eyes  of  one  of  the  few  women  sculp- 
tors who  are  known  to  the  world  of  true  achievement. 
She  wore  a  ready-to-wear  sack  suit  of  a  dark  color, 
which  fitted  her  badly,  and  her  hat  looked  as  though 
it  had  been  rained  on  and  sun-bleached. 

She  was  amenable  only  to  one  law, — her  law,  self- 
made  and  rigidly  kept, — the  law  of  truth  in  work. 
She  occupied  one  side  of  a  big,  old-fashioned  house, 
and  her  manners  were  gentlemanly  in  the  extreme. 
When  she  was  working,  and  hunger  made  itself  felt, 
she  drank  milk  and  ate  sliced  raw  onions  pressed 
between  slices  of  brown  bread,  and  topped  her  lunch 
with  the  biggest  apple  she  could  come  by.  She  was 


202  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

as  sexless  as  an  archangel.  When  she  was  not  what 
she  called  busy,  she  wrote  bitingly  trenchant  com- 
ments on  art  in  America.  Her  flair  for  good  work 
and  real  workers  was  an  intuition.  When  she  dis- 
covered a  form  or  a  face  which  satisfied  her  instinct 
and  her  eyes,  she  followed  it  like  an  Apache,  taking 
her  own  whenever  and  wherever  she  found  it.  This 
so  impressed  her  victims  that  they  became  as  wax  and 
putty  in  her  hands. 

She  was  in  search  of  a  certain  male  figure,  and  for 
some  time  it  had  been  eluding  her.  She  was  never 
able  to  satisfy  herself  with  almost-as-good ;  the  figure 
she  wished  was  fixed  in  her  mind,  and  for  weeks  she 
had  been  stalking  it,  raging  with  disappointment 
over  her  failures.  And  now,  within  half  a  dozen 
blocks  of  her  own  house,  she  came  upon  it  in  the  uni- 
form of  Traffic  Officer  Kelly.  He  had  turned  his 
head  to  look  after  a  pair  of  types,  and  she  caught, 
with  a  flash  of  wonder  and  delight,  the  beautiful  line 
of  his  profile.  The  back  of  his  head  was  wonderfully 
fine;  most  men's  are  not.  The  set  of  his  shoulders 
was  beyond  praise,  and  she  liked  his  ears,  his  flat 
thighs  and  springy  legs.  She  noticed  that  his  hands 
were  excellent,  and  that  his  nails  were  manicured. 

"My  man!  Praise  God!"  said  she,  and  stepping 
up  to  him  briskly  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  com- 
pellingly.  The  tall  young  man  looked  down  at  her 
without  surprise.  He  waited  for  her  to  tell  him  what 
she  wanted  him  to  do  for  her. 

Said  she,  exultantly,  and  her  brown  face  beamed : 


THE  OLYMPIAN  IDIOT  203 

''Lord,  what  a  hunt  I  've  had  for  you!  You  must 
come  to  my  studio.  I  'm  Mary  Hallet." 

He  had  heard  of  Mary  Hallet,  of  course ;  he  remem- 
bered houses  in  which  some  of  her  things  were 
cherished  possessions.  But  he  did  not  as  yet  know 
her  salient  characteristics.  He  touched  his  cap 
respectfully. 

"Come  to  your  studio,  Miss  Hallet?  What  for?" 
he  asked. 

"To  pose,  of  course.  You  're  the  man  I  need. 
When  can  you  come?" 

"Why,  you  see,  my  hours — " 

"I  '11  telephone  the  commissioner.  It  can  be 
arranged,  very  easily." 

"Why,  but — "  stammered  the  policeman,  "you  see 
— that  is — my  time,  Miss  Hallet — " 

"I  will  pay  you  half  as  much  again  as  the  usual 
terms,"  said  she,  briskly.  And  she  looked  him  over 
with  a  critical,  sexless  stare.  He  felt  sure  she  could 
see  his  backbone  through  his  blue  coat,  and  that  she 
perceived  that  one  button  was  off  his  undershirt.  It 
was  such  a  look  as  an  enthusiastic  dissector  might 
fasten  upon  a  fine  cadaver,  and  it  made  Brian  Kelly 
cringe. 

Unheeding  his  perturbation,  Miss  Hallet  fished  a 
memorandum  book  from  her  pocket,  licked  the  point 
of  her  lead  pencil,  and  asked  crisply : 

"Name,  please?" 

Like  one  hypnotized  he  gave  it. 

"Kelly,   B.    Home    address,    please?    What,   you 


204  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

are  in  Charlton  Street  with  Mrs.  Callaghan?  You 
are  a  lucky  young  man !  A  very  good  friend  of  mine 
is  the  widow.  So  's  the  O 'Shane  girl.  I  used  her 
for  a  fountain,  once,  and  I  hope  to  heaven  your  legs 
are  as  good.  Your  back  seems  to  be  all  a  man 's  back 
should  be."  She  reached  up,  caught  hold  of  his 
badge,  and  wrote  the  number  in  her  book. 

Trying  to  rally  his  scattered  wits,  Officer  Kelly 
began  to  protest: 

"Look  here,  you  know,  you  can't !  You  just  can't, 
Miss  Hallet!  And  I  won't.  I  can't." 

"Can't  what?" 

"Wear  wings  and  a  sash  and  hold  a  basin  or  an 
umbrella  over  my  head,  and  let  you  call  me  a  foun- 
tain. I  won 't,  Miss  Hallet !  Not  for  you  or  anybody 
or  anything.  Move  on  please,  Miss  Hallet;  you're 
blocking  traffic." 

"My  good  young  man,"  said  Mary  Hallet,  "didn't 
you  hear  me  tell  you  I  'd  been  looking  for  you  for 
some  time  ?  Do  you  think  a  small  thing  like  a  police- 
man's  notions  can  be  allowed  to  interfere  with  my 
work?  What  is  your  day  off?  Or  have  you  got  a 
day  off?  I  've  forgotten." 

"All  right,  you  keep  right  on  forgetting.  Move 
on,  please,  Miss  Hallet.  You  are  obstructing  traffic, ' ' 
said  Brian,  patiently. 

"Oh,  behave  yourself!"  said  Miss  Hallet,  impa- 
tiently. "I  sha'n't  tell  you  again  I  Ve  been  looking 
for  you  and  must  have  you,  but  I  '11  merely  say  I  in- 
tend to  have  you.  H  'm !  This  numskull  must  be 
persuaded,  I  suppose, ' '  she  repeated  as  though  to  her- 


THE  OLYMPIAN  IDIOT  205 

self.  "I  '11  see  Mrs.  Callaghan  and  Colette  about 
this,  to-night." 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  the  badgered  Brian.  "Oh,  no, 
Miss  Hallet!  you  wouldn't  do  a  thing  like  that!" 
Appealing  to  the  women  in  the  house  to  persuade  him 
to  pose  for  a  lady  sculptor !  Good  Lord ! 

' '  Well,  I  '11  go  after  the  commissioner,  and  the  City 
Hall  people,  then,  or  I  '11  see  Tammany.  And  I  will 
send  forth  the  word  of  Mary  Hallet — even  as  a  Mac- 
Dougal  Street  man's  word  was  passed  on  to  me,  if 
only  I  'd  remembered  it ! — that  you  are  the  most  per- 
fect type  in  New  York,  and  you  '11  see  what  '11  hap- 
pen to  you!  I  saw  you  grinning  at  that  little  fool 
in  the  red  smock  who  was  with  the  other  fool  in  the 
fawn-colored  hat.  You  '11  grin  on  the  wrong  side  of 
your  mouth  when  she  and  her  sisters  begin  to  gather 
and  sketch  you.  When  they  hear  7  want  you — 
well,  you  will  learn  what  a  serious  thing  it  is  to 
interfere  with  an  artist  in  the  discharge  of  her 
duty!" 

Brian  looked  at  her  with  terror.  The  bare  idea  of 
her  going  after  the  commissioner  on  such  an  errand — ! 
And  for  the  men  at  headquarters  to  get  wind  of  this 
— John  Clancy  laughing  like  a  hyena — !  And  then, 
of  course,  those  damned  reporters  nosing  him  out — 
"Policeman  Poses  for  Pretty  Painters" — "Officer 
Aids  Eminent  Sculptress."  His  hair  rose. 

"Well?"  said  the  inquisitress. 

"What  am  I  to  be  made  into?"  asked  the  victim, 
sullenly. 

"Teucer,  for  one  thing,"  said  she,  and  a  gleam 


206  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

came  into  her  eyes.  "For  five  years,  young  man, 
Teucer  has  been  struggling  in  my  brain,  waiting  for 
just  the  right  face  and  figure  to  deliver  him." 

"But  I  'm  not  a  marble-cutter,  Miss  Hallet!     I  'm 
a  policeman!"  said  Brian  Kelly,  goaded. 

"You  're  Teucer,  and  a  far  better  Teucer  than 
Thorny crof t  's, "  said  Miss  Hallet,  flicking  aside  the 
remark.  "More  immediately,  you  're  to  be  the  fore- 
most figure  in  a  group  of  Olympian  prize-winners." 
Again  her  impersonal,  sexless,  vivisectionist  stare 
brought  gooseflesh  on  his  spine.  He  was  used  to  the 
ordinary  human  eye  lingering  upon  him  without 
aversion,  and  he  was  not  unaware  that  the  feminine 
eye  in  particular  found  him  pleasing.  But  never  be- 
fore had  the  unhumanly  dispassionate  eye  of  genius 
coolly  and  critically  appraised  him.  He  felt  as 
though  he  had  taken  off  his  skin  and  was  standing  in 
his  bare  bones,  and  the  sensation  was  embarrassing. 
It  was  like  one  of  those  dreams  in  which  one  appears 
in  some  public  place — like  the  theater,  or  the  Metro- 
politan Museum,  or  Fifth  Avenue  at  Forty-second 
Street — clad  in  one's  pajamas  or  maybe  a  gauze 
shirt.  A  gentle  perspiration  appeared  upon  the  brow 
of  Officer  Kelly. 

He  looked  at  Mary  Hallet,  now,  disgustedly,  and 
said  with  infuriated  resignation : 

"I  '11  compromise,  Miss  Hallet.  You  keep  away 
from  the  commissioner  and  the  Callaghans,  and  I  '11 
be  Teucer — though  I  'm  not  supposed  to  understand 
who  and  what  Teucer  was,  am  I?  And  I  '11  be  your 
Olympian.  But  there  's  one  thing :  you  've  got  to 


THE  OLYMPIAN  IDIOT  207 

take  me  at  my  own  hours,  or  I  '11  chuck  this  job  and 
vanish. ' ' 

"I  am  not  altogether  unreasonable.  What  are 
your  hours?"  She  smiled — and  Mary  Hallet  had  a 
very  nice  smile. 

"Six  o'clock  in  the  morning,"  said  the  policeman, 
grimly. 

' '  Make  it  half -past  five,  and  you  may  breakfast  with 
me,"  she  offered  hospitably. 

At  that  he  wiped  a  damp  forehead. 

"I  '11  let  you  know  when  I  can  come, ' '  he  promised 
vaguely. 

"Suppose  you  make  it  day  after  to-morrow,"  said 
she. 

Policeman  Kelly  regarded  her  with  mingled  emo- 
tions of  rage,  astonishment,  admiration,  and  despair. 

"Your  methods  are  somewhat  like  Captain 
Kidd's,"  he  told  her. 

"You  beautiful  Olympian  idiot!"  She  waved  her 
hand  under  his  nose,  and  marched  off  like  a  doughboy 
on  a  hike. 

He  had  a  day  and  a  night  in  which  to  think  this 
thing  over ;  and  he  concluded  it  was  not  safe  to  have 
a  Mary  Hallet  on  one's  trail. 

"This,"  he  said  to  his  reflection  in  his  mirror,  "is 
what  you  get  for  looking  like  a  'beautiful  Olympian 
idiot,'  and  I  hope  you  like  what  you  've  let  yourself 
in  for !  It  would  be  fine  if  Jawn  Clancy  got  wise  to 
this ;  now,  would  n't  it ? "  And  he  went  to  Mary  Hal- 
let 's  studio  with  a  package  of  gym  togs  under  his 
arm.  It  was  not  quite  six  o'clock. 


208  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

She  welcomed  him  pleasantly  but  without  surprise. 
She  was  evidently  expecting  him,  for  she  was  en- 
veloped in  an  apron  that  did  not  add  to  her  beauty. 
She  offered  him  excellent  coffee,  which  he  refused. 
He  was  here  by  capture  and  compulsion;  and  he 
would  not  eat  with  her  as  though  she  were  a  friend. 

"Very  well,"  said  she,  with  horrid  briskness.  "We 
can  get  to  work  at  once,  then!"  She  ushered  him 
into  a  small  curtained  recess:  "Get  ready,  please." 

Grimly  he  got  into  his  gym  togs,  and  stepped  out 
a  figure  that  would  have  filled  with  pure  joy  any 
trainer  of  athletes.  She  did  instantaneous  justice 
and  homage  to  his  comeliness.  He  embodied,  she 
thought,  the  Greek  ideal  of  a  body  in  harmony  with 
the  laws  of  its  being.  But  what  she  said  was : 

"You  look  like  a  sulky  runner  who  has  come  in  a 
poor  third.  This  might  do  for  Stockholm  or  Har- 
vard, but  it  is  not  in  keeping  with  an  Olympian  victor 
of  the  third  century  B.  c. "  She  walked  to  the  door, 
opened  it,  and  shouted: 

"Jacques!     Hi  there,  Jacques!" 

A  door  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall  was  jerked 
open. 

"Come  over  and  help  make  a  policeman  see  the 
light  of  understanding.  He  thinks  he  's  New  Eng- 
land, and  he  's  got  to  be  Greece !  Hurry,  like  a  good 
chap!" 

Jacques  hurried — big,  hairy,  a  pipe  in  his  teeth, 
shoddy  slippers  on  huge  feet,  and  a  shabby  coat  hang- 
ing upon  his  shoulders.  Traces  of  not  too  fresh  egg 
were  upon  his  not  too  clean  shirt;  and  one  surmised 


THE  OLYMPIAN  IDIOT  209 

that  he  combed  his  hair  with  his  fingers,  and  brushed 
it  with  the  flat  of  his  hand.  Kind,  whimsical,  tem- 
peramental, he  did  things  in  his  own  way,  and  did 
them  unusually  well.  He  removed  his  pipe,  and  held 
it  in  a  large,  workmanlike  hand.  At  sight  of  the 
scowling  young  man  in  the  gym  suit,  a  smile  of  droll 
understanding  twisted  his  hairy  countenance. 

"Friend  policeman,"  said  he,  in  an  enticingly 
pleasant  voice,  "in  your  peregrinations  did  your 
steps  never  lead  you  to  that  massive  mausoleum  of 
art  the  Metropolitan  Museum?" 

' '  Great  unwashed  one, ' '  said  the  policeman  politely, 
"your  appearance  and  conversation  do  not  partic- 
ularly appeal  to  me.  Suppose  you  do  what  I'm  going 
to  do  in  a  few  minutes — get  out  of  here  on  the  run." 

"But  if  I  did  that,"  returned  the  hairy  gentleman, 
equably,  "I  should  not  be  able  to  lift  you  onto  the 
pedestal  of  classic  art,  which  nature,  aided  by  Miss 
Hallet,  plainly  preordained  for  you.  May  I  remind 
you  that  Greeks  of  the  B.  c.  period*  did  not  belong  to 
the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  nor  wear  B.  V.  D's  and  rubber-soled 
canvas  shoes?  I  think  you  'd  better  shed." 

Brian  blushed  a  fine  shrimp  pink.  He  could  feel 
it  to  his  toes. 

At  that  the  man  Jacques  laughed  aloud. 

"Superb  imbecile!"  he  cried  in  fluent  French. 
"One  admires  you  even  in  your  absurd  lingerie! 
Little  jewel  of  Marathon,  you  should  discard  the  cot- 
ton conventionalities  which  disguise  your  fine  limbs. 
You  should  wear  nothing,  nothing  but  the  athlete's 
fillet  upon  your  brow,  and  let  Mademoiselle  immor- 


210  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

talize  in  marble  your  godlike  youth !  Alas,  you  don't 
understand  me,  you  magnificent  donkey  of  a  police- 
man, when  I  speak  to  you  thus  in  the  tongue  of  a 
Frenchman  and  an  artist!  I  must  address  you  in 
your  own  barbarous  jargon  of  the  New  York  streets, 
fit  for  the  ears  and  the  intelligence  of  morons.  It  is 
enough  to  make  one  weep!" 

' '  If  you  make  yourself  cry  trying  to  descend  to  my 
level,  why  give  yourself  so  much  trouble  ? ' '  suggested 
Brian,  in  less  colloquial  but  more  deadly  French.  ''I 
think  you  'd  better  be  moving  on. — Miss  Hallet,  noth- 
ing doing  in  the  noble  and  nude  and  antique  business 
this  morning.  You  don't  need  a  victor.  What 
you  're  trying  to  get  is  a  victim,  a  sheep  led  to  the — 
er — block.  Personally,  I  'm  a  goat."  He  started 
for  his  clothes. 

A  long  arm  reached  out  and  clasped  him.  He  was 
in  the  pink  of  physical  condition,  a  trained  man  in 
the  flush  of  his  youth.  But  the  big  Frenchman  held 
him  with  the  effortless  ease  of  a  mother  bear  holding 
an  unruly  cub. 

"You  are  of  a  stupidity  to  make  one  ashamed, 
you,"  said  the  painter.  "Look,  donkey,  into  the 
eyes  of  Mary  Hallet;  look  also  into  the  eyes  of  me, 
Jacques  the  painter,  and  blush  again  for  yourself!" 
And  he  forced  the  angry  young  man  to  meet  his  deep, 
clear  glance.  Something  in  that  look  made  Brian 
pause. 

"I  would  have  you  know,"  said  the  painter,  "that 
there  is  but  one  thing  which  really  excuses  God  for 
making  man,  and  excuses  man  for  remaining  in  this 


THE  OLYMPIAN  IDIOT  211 

lunatic  world — creative  art,  the  flowering  of  the 
human  spirit.  My  barbarian,  you  in  your  brief  hour 
possess  that  toward  which  all  creative  art  struggles — 
beauty.  Transient  guest  of  life,  nature  fashioned 
you  from  a  perfect  mold.  Allow,  then,  creative  art 
to  seize  and  hold  this  beauty,  to  take  what  is  perish- 
able and  make  it  a  symbol  of  the  imperishable."  He 
added,  with  a  piercing  look:  "You  think  you  are 
modest,  heinf  That  modesty  of  yours  is  the  fig  leaf 
of  stupidity!" 

Hitherto,  when  he  had  met  artists  in  their  studios, 
it  had  been  as  a  fashionable  young  man  with  a  wealthy 
father  who  occasionally  bought  pictures,  and  paid 
a  thumping  sum  for  them,  too.  But  those  successful 
artists  had  not  been  like  this  man  and  woman  who 
had  him  captive  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning!  He 
looked  at  them  a  bit  sullenly.  Of  a  sudden  Jacques 
released  him,  pushed  him  aside,  with  something  like 
contempt. 

"It  is  plain,"  said  Jacques,  "that  this  young  man 
has  the  bourgeois  mind;  he  is  a  Philistine,  without 
vision,  without  judgment.  Mary,  let  us  bid  him  be- 
gone. For  observe :  the  children  of  one 's  flesh  vanish, 
being  mortal  and  of  a  day.  But  the  children  of  one's 
spirit,  of  one's  wisdom  of  heart  and  skill  of  hand — 
they  live;  they  are  not  subject  to  time;  they  are  part 
of  the  heritage  of  the  race.  Bid,  then,  this  police- 
man go  about  his  business.  I  would  not  wish,  me,  to 
perpetuate  a  fool — in  marble." 

Brian  Kelly  looked  again  into  the  eyes  of  these  two 
lunatics,  and  suddenly  he  was  ashamed,  of  his  anger, 


212  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

of  his  whole  attitude.  Something  of  their  sexless  and 
unstained  point  of  view  grew  clear  to  him.  Mary 
Hallet  was  regarding  him  with  a  sort  of  high  impa- 
tience and  at  the  same  time  a  sad  understanding. 
He  reddened,  and  his  head  went  up.  He  drew  a  great 
breath. 

"All  right!"  said  he,  and  vanished  behind  the 
screen.  And  in  another  moment  there  stepped  forth 
such  a  creature  as  the  Lord  God  must  have  met  when 
He  walked  in  the  first  garden  in  the  cool  of  the  day. 
The  young  man  walked  springily;  and  from  the 
crown  of  his  black  head  to  the  soles  of  his  white  feet 
there  was  no  blemish  in  him.  The  two  artists  were 
silent;  they  looked  at  him  almost  reverently.  And 
at  that  an  irrepressible  Irishness  twisted  his  lip. 

"Fetch  on  your  garlands,  Miss  Hallet:  here  's  your 
Olympian  idiot!"  said  Brian  Kelly. 

This  world  of  the  studio,  the  absorbing  and  real 
world  of  the  creative  worker,  was  as  new  to  him  as 
though  he  had  stepped  into  Mars  or  the  moon.  The 
real  children  of  this  world  were  not  the  happy  pifflers 
Brian  had  been  sniggering  at.  They  worshiped  a 
sterner  god — he  thought  a  more  cruel  god — than  the 
lighter  spirits  mouthed  their  prayers  to.  For  this 
hard  divinity  they  would  toil  incredibly,  live  hun- 
grily, starve,  freeze,  be  as  homeless  as  outlaw  cats  on 
the  back  fences  of  society — to  keep  the  faith.  All 
this  despite  the  fact  that  their  world,  even  as  others, 
raised  altars  in  high  places  to  those  gods  who  bestow 
upon  their  votaries  more  returns  than  the  true  god 


THE  OLYMPIAN  IDIOT  213 

allows.  Truth  knows  that  the  knowing  of  Truth  is 
enough  in  itself. 

Jacques,  though  he  would  have  laughed  con- 
sumedly  at  the  notion,  was  to  Brian  Kelly  as  Paul 
upon  Mars  Hill,  interpreting  for  him  the  inscription 
on  the  altar  To  the  Unknown  God. 

Brian  had  always  been  joyously  alive.  Mary  Hal- 
let  and  Jacques  added  to  that  joy  of  life  a  pride  in 
the  beauty  and  strength  of  the  body,  which  is  a 
sturdy  and  manly  joy,  as  clean  and  natural  as  sun- 
light and  sea  water.  It  took  him  some  time  to  realize 
what  they  had  done  and  were  doing  for  him.  But 
he  did  know  they  enlarged  and  enriched  his  life  in- 
credibly; and  he  gave  the  flat-chested  woman  a  love 
that  he  never  withdrew;  and  to  Jacques  the  untidy, 
the  careless  of  speech,  the  jester,  the  affection  that 
passes  the  love  of  women. 

The  man  was  a  painter's  painter,  with  a  very 
slowly  growing  name.  Wealthy  sitters  were  shy  of 
his  portraits,  which  smacked  too  much  of  psycho- 
analysis. Jacques  knew  the  curious  value  of  these 
amazing  portraits;  he  appreciated  his  own  work. 
Some  day  collectors  would  fight  over  and  museums 
would  be  proud  to  own  his  pictures.  In  the  mean- 
time he  made  enough  to  satisfy  all  his  wants;  and 
these  being  few  and  inexpensive,  he  gave  away  two- 
handedly,  for  he  had  no  sense  of  thrift  and  was  con- 
genitally  generous.  Had  it  not  been  for  Mary 
Hallet,  who  at  times  took  his  money  away  from  him 
and  put  it  by,  he  would  have  been,  usually,  about 
half  an  hour  ahead  of  the  pawnshop.  His  charity, 


214  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

like  the  rain,  fell  upon  the  just  and  the  unjust;  he 
liked  youth,  beauty,  bravery,  and,  along  with  these, 
those  whom  he  called  "the  devil's  poor."  Nothing 
that  wore  the  semblance  of  humanity  shocked  or 
estranged  him. 

Such,  then,  was  Jacques,  who  literally  and  figura- 
tively took  young  Brian  Kelly  to  his  heart,  and  loved 
him  as  his  own  father  had  not  known  how  to  love 
him;  taught  him  that  virtue  has  its  vices  and  vice 
its  virtues,  that  the  devil  needs  no  eyeglasses,  but 
that  angels  very  often  wear  blinders;  showed  him 
what  goodness  can  be,  and  how  simple  kindness  is  the 
most  needed  thing  in  the  world;  taught  him  the 
difference  between  beauty  and  its  imitations;  and 
tramping  the  New  York  streets  with  him  night  after 
night,  showing  him  the  under  side  of  that  bright  gar- 
ment the  city  wears  by  day,  gave  him  such  a  thorough 
graduate  course  in  the  humanities  as  all  Domini ck's 
millions  would  not  have  been  able  to  procure. 


CHAPTER  X 

A  COURSE  IN  ETHICS  AND  HUMANITIES 

IT  was  the  admirable  Perkins  who  kept  Miss 
Honora  Kelly  in  touch  with  her  nephew's  pres- 
ent position,  prospects,  and  surroundings,  for 
Perkins  " looked  in"  upon  Mr.  Brian  as  he  had 
threatened.  He  had  the  perfect  gentleman's  nice 
sense  of  propriety  and  fitness,  and  Mr.  Brian  as  a 
policeman  outraged  it  in  every  fiber.  He  considered 
that  a  momentary  madness  afflicted  the  Kelly  family, 
a  madness  which  would  presently  be  dispelled.  Mr. 
Dominick  Kelly  must  soon  see  the  error  of  his  ways 
and  recall  his  son.  Mr.  Brian  Kelly  must  shortly  see 
the  error  of  his  ways  and  return  to  his  proper  and 
natural  sphere.  Perkins  hoped  Miss  Honora  would 
be  the  instrument  to  bring  about  this  desired  result. 
Saint  though  she  was,  Miss  Honora  had  nevertheless 
reached  that  stage  of  long-continued,  uninterrupted 
affluence  in  which  one  must  lose,  even  if  slightly,  the 
common  touch.  Her  thoughts  formulated  a  police- 
man as  a  large,  ham-fisted  being  bullying  New  York's 
obedient  millions,  a  signaling,  symbolic  Hand  up- 
raised at  street  crossings;  publicly  necessary,  of 
course,  but  personally — well,  say  a  bit  impossible. 
And  Brian — their  Brian — had  become  one  of  these! 

215 


216  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

She  pictured  him  standing  at,  say,  the  Avenue  at 
Forty-second  Street,  holding  up  the  cars  of  his  former 
acquaintances,  who  stared  horror-struck  through 
limousine  windows.  She  saw  him  stationed  before 
one  of  the  great  hotels,  or  patrolling  the  precincts  of 
one  of  his  former  clubs,  the  members  of  which 
beckoned  one  another  and  whispered  together.  Per- 
spiration bedewed  her  forehead.  Alas,  how  art  thou 
fallen,  O  Lucifer,  son  of  the  morning! 

She  prayed  against  entertaining  feelings  of  sinful 
pride;  and  to  be  delivered  from  malice  and  all  un- 
charitableness;  but  her  feelings  toward  her  brother 
Dominick  were  noi  the  feelings  of  a  meek  Christian. 
She  felt  deeply,  tenderly  grateful  to  Jimmy  Darling- 
ton, who,  as  Perkins  said  with  emotion,  was  "sticking 
to  him  something  noble,  Miss."  She  presently  wrote 
Jimmy  a  little  note,  thanking  him  for  his  loyalty  ' '  to 
my  poor  darling  in  his  hour  of  trial  and  humiliation. ' ' 
That  note  left  Jimmy  feeling  distinctly  foolish. 

Perkins  had  informed  Miss  Honora,  in  answer  to 
searching  questions,  that  the  widow  in  Charlton 
Street  was  a  most  respectable  party,  and  pleasant 
enough,  Miss — quite  pleasant.  Yes,  Miss,  Mr.  Brian 's 
room  might  be  called  an  attic,  but  it  was  clean  and 
sunny.  Well,  Miss,  people  in  that  station  don't  keep 
chefs,  but  the — ah — lady  of  the  house  helped  with 
the  cooking,  and  the  fare  seemed  very  good,  Miss: 
Mr.  Brian  had  remarked  to  Perkins  that  he  was  ac- 
quiring the  appetite  of  a  drayman. 

Miss  Honora  knew  old  Charlton  Street  hazily.  It 
abounded  and  abutted  upon  a  hinterland  whose  civili- 


ETHICS  AND  HUMANITIES  217 

zation,  she  fancied,  centered  around  the  settlement 
house  and  the  station  house.  Very  foreign  foreigners 
swarmed  in  the  side-street  tenements,  hairy  anarchists 
lurked  therein,  grimy  swarms  of  children  played  in 
the  roaring  streets,  out-at-elbow  near-genius  dwelt 
dirtily  in  its  attics;  and  the  voice  of  the  hunter  of 
local  color  was  heard  in  the  land.  At  intervals — say, 
around  the  middle  of  December — appeared  there  the 
Charitable  Lady,  furred,  beautiful,  rosy,  bearing  upon 
her  arm  a  basket  from  which  emerged  one  wrinkled 
carrot,  one  apple,  a  bunch  of  celery,  and  the  long, 
grisly  neck  and  blue  head  of  a  dead  hen  with 
whiskers  around  the  bill  like  a  deacob's.  One  had 
pictures,  too,  of  clanging  fire-engines,  and  ambulances. 

And  near  by  was  Greenwich  Village,  in  which  few 
washed,  all  smoked  and  drank  and  talked  about  Art, 
and  none  believed  in  God  or  the  holy  sacrament  of 
matrimony.  Confused  and  troubled  visions  arose  in 
the  sweet  old  maid's  mind,  and  caused  her  sleepless 
nights  and  some  very  real  headaches.  She  prayed 
fervently,  being  afraid  for  Brian's  soul;  and  at 
first  she  thought  she  would  leave  Dominick's  house 
and  stay  with  Brian.  But  she  was  sorry  for  Domi- 
nick,  although  she  blamed  him.  He  loved  her,  in 
his  way,  and  she  knew  he  wished  to  see  her  in  his 
house,  that  he  needed  her.  And  Brian  must  not  be 
burdened  with  an  old  aunt.  Also,  was  it  not  better 
for  Brian's  interest  that  she  should  stay  here  at  her 
post,  a  friend  at  court  ? 

The  longing  to  see  the  boy  grew  upon  her  pain- 
fully. She  wrote  him  affectionate  notes,  mailing 


218  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

them  herself  on  her  way  to  mass  in  the  morning,  so 
that  the  curiosity  of  the  servants  might  not  discover 
his  address  and  the  depths  of  his  fall  be  laid  bare  to 
the  gaping  world.  An  occasional  telephone  message 
received  from  the  faithful  Perkins  assured  her 
that  Mr.  B.  was  well,  and  for  the  time  being  quite 
satisfied.  Miss  Honora  saw  in  these  messages  noble 
but  futile  attempts  to  deceive  her,  to  conceal  from  her 
the  darling  boy's  real  suffering.  She  presently  de- 
termined to  go  and  see  things  for  herself ;  no  matter 
what  befell,  she  must  see  Brian.  She  would  force 
him  to  accept  that  part  of  her  monthly  allowance 
heretofore  devoted  to  more  general  charity.  Thus 
determined,  she  prepared  to  descend  upon  him  when 
she  was  not  expected,  to  take  him,  as  it  were,  suddenly 
and  off  guard. 

She  chose  a  day  when  she  had  some  shopping  as  an 
excuse  for  absence  from  home.  Having  dutifully  at- 
tended to  this,  she  dismissed  her  own  chauffeur  and 
called  a  taxi,  and  had  herself  conveyed  to  Charlton 
Street.  Some  of  the  streets  through  which  she  passed, 
some  of  the  faces  glimpsed,  the  rows  of  rag  wagons 
piled  high  with  insanitary  contents,  unclean  litter, 
unclean  people,  made  her  clasp  her  hands  in  her  lap. 
She  was  looking  for  just  this  sort  of  thing,  and  of 
course  she  found  it,  as  one  always  does;  she  was  not 
looking  for  the  other  side  of  the  shield,  and  so  of 
course  she  missed  it.  And  then  the  taxi  turned  a 
corner  and  was  in  Charlton  Street. 

The  red-brick  house  had  the  dignity  of  old  age, 
a  dignity  many  more  pretentious  newer  houses  fail 


ETHICS  AND  HUMANITIES  219 

to  attain.  The  large,  square  windows  were  gay  with 
flower  boxes;  the  steps  were  immaculate,  the  old  door 
all  that  one  expects  an  old  door  to  be.  A  large  cat, 
as  dignified  as  the  house  itself  and  as  sleek  as  a  bishop, 
sunned  himself  on  the  top  step.  Somewhere  within,  a 
canary  trilled.  The  whole  street  was  quiet.  The 
roar  of  the  city  was  a  gentle  murmur  here. 

Miss  Honora's  ring  was  answered  by  an  apple-faced, 
plump  body  who,  hearing  that  she  wished  to  see  Mr. 
Kelly,  ushered  her  into  a  very  lovely  old  parlor  full 
of  early  Victorian  walnut  furniture  rubbed  to  satiny 
perfection  by  a  couple  of  generations  of  careful 
women.  Keassured  by  the  plump  person's  smile  and 
the  room's  quality,  Miss  Honora  sat  down.  On  a 
table  near  her  was  a  vase  of  roses — very  expensive 
roses.  She  looked  around  with  quickening  in- 
terest. Her  attention  focused  itself  upon  a  clever 
sketch  upon  the  mantel,  a  sketch  whimsically  re- 
vealing, original,  and  intimate.  It  was  signed 
"Jacques,"  which  of  course  meant  nothing  to  Miss 
Honora;  but  in  a  girl's  hand  was  written  "J.  D., 
Our  Only  Ornamental  Friend." 

Miss  Honora  stared  at  that  intimate  sketch  of  Mr. 
James  Darlington.  Her  puzzlement  grew.  Was 
this,  too,  a  falling  away  ?  It  was  a  nice  room.  There 
was  something  in  it  and  about  it  that  Dominick's 
statelier  rooms  lacked.  But — Jimmy,  too?  Their 
only  ornamental  friend?  Brian,  then,  had  ceased  to 
be  ornamental :  Brian  was — a  policeman !  However, 
she  was  not  here  to  be  tearful.  She  would  be  brave 
for  her  dear  boy's  sake. 


220  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

Presently  came  an  opened  front  door,  a  quick, 
resilient  step,  a  gay  whistle.  A  tall,  clean-shaven, 
intensely  alive  young  man  in  a  blue  uniform,  a 
wheel  embroidered  on  the  sleeve,  was  standing  in  the 
door,  regarding  her  with  delighted  eyes.  He  held 
his  cap  in  his  hand,  and  one  saw  the  white  line  its  re- 
moval left  upon  his  forehead. 

He  seemed  to  her  beautiful,  immensely  dear,  and 
yet,  somehow,  quite  new — himself  in  a  finer  phase, 
perhaps.  His  blue  eyes  had  deepened;  they  looked 
wiser,  kinder,  and  at  the  same  time  more  keen  and 
penetrating.  The  lips  came  together  firmly,  with  a 
hint  of  Dominick  's  in  them  and  in  the  set  of  the  young 
jaw.  An  air  of  responsibility,  of  being  at  attention, 
replaced  his  old  gay  insouciance,  his  old  carelessness; 
and  his  graceful  laziness  was  a  thing  of  the  past :  this 
new  Brian  was  poised,  self -controlled,  extremely  effec- 
tive. And  above  all  he  was  buoyantly,  resplendently 
healthy. 

Miss  Honora  stared  at  this  virile,  handsome 
creature,  and  felt  a  bit  dazed,  remembering  that  she 
had  been  sorry  for  him.  She  had  in  her  a  sly  humor, 
partly  submerged  by  religiosity.  Of  a  sudden  her 
eyes  lighted  with  demure  laughter. 

' '  I  'm  wondering  what  the  new  butler  at  home  would 
do  if  he  should  happen  in  upon  me  being  kissed  by 
the  policeman!"  said  she. 

''Probably  buy  a  uniform,"  said  Brian,  and  hugged 
her. 

He  took  her  upstairs  to  see  his  quarters,  the  attic 
room  with  the  dormer  windows  gay  with  flowers. 


ETHICS  AND  HUMANITIES  221 

His  clothes  were  in  perfect  order.  Plainly,  the 
person  of  the  house  was  a  commendable  person! 
Brian  called  her  ''Mother  Callaghan,"  in  tones  of 
heartfelt  affection. 

His  aunt  watched  him  stealthily.  She  was  sensing 
the  change  in  him  and — yes,  and  liking  it! 

Brian  knew  that  he  had  found  himself  when  he 
found  himself  a  policeman.  What  he  had  taken  on 
as  something  of  a  lark,  a  gay  adventure,  a  plank  to 
carry  him  across  an  unexpected  gap,  had  become  an 
absorbing  work,  seriously  carried  on  and  studied. 
He  liked  his  job,  and  so,  of  course,  he  made  good.  It 
was  as  though  the  careless,  good-humored  young 
fellow  had  become  acquainted  with  another  self,  his 
real  self.  He  spoke  of  this  to  Jimmy  Darlington, 
hesitatingly,  somewhat  shamefacedly. 

"I  know,"  said  Jimmy,  and  he  did  not  laugh. 
"You  feel  squiffy  because  you  're  growing  real  brains 
— sort  of  two  thoughts  growing  where  no  thought  at 
all  grew  before,  you  know.  And — Kell,  you  're  more 
of  a  man,  because  you  're  doing  a  real  live  man's 
work.  I  'm  beginning  to  get  tired  of  playing  around, 
myself." 

Policeman  Kelly  laughed,  but  he  realized  the  truth 
of  Jimmy's  comment.  He  was  thinking,  and  thinking 
along  lines  that  would  have  amazed  him  a  year  be- 
fore. He  was  seeing  common  things  with  new  eyes. 
For,  behind  the  obfuscating  and  obscuring  lights  and 
tinsels,  the  red,  raw  faces  of  facts  confronted  him 
daily.  Poverty,  for  one  of  them.  He  began  to  under- 
stand that  the  very  virtues  of  the  poor  make  for  the 


222  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

vice  of  poverty;  that  it  exists  because  the  poor  are 
patient,  and  will  remain  incurable  so  long  as  they 
are  supinely  patient.  Crime,  for  another  fact. 
Crime,  and  too  many  criminals  the  victims  of  a  civili- 
zation which  manufactures  them  and  then  sets  up  a 
clumsy  machinery  to  punish  the  result  of  its  own 
stupidities. 

He  watched  the  children  bred  in  the  slums,  presently 
to  be  called  and  regarded  as  black  sheep ;  when  they 
are  not  black — only  dirty  gray  with  the  street  dust 
and  gutter  mud,  in  which  they  have  pastured.  Sup- 
pose these  same  sheep  could  walk  in  green  pastures 
and  lie  down  beside  still  waters :  would  they  not  show 
up  as  white  as  those  of  the  guarded  folds?  And  the 
rare,  real  black  sheep:  perhaps,  kept  with  the  fold, 
they  might  have  become  guarding  wethers!  Brian 
Kelly,  rubbing  elbows  with  the  dirty-gray  almost- 
blacks,  coming  in  occasional  contact  with  the  real 
black  itself,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  all  sheep  are 
mutton  together ;  and  that  one  could  not  tell  the  color 
of  the  wool  by  the  taste  of  the  flesh. 

Accident,  a  quip  of  fate,  had  made  him  a  watchdog 
of  the  herd.  Well,  it  was  up  to  the  watchdog  to  be  a 
faithful  one!  With  Dominick's  own  indomitableness 
he  pitched  himself  into  his  work.  The  commissioner, 
to  whom  the  situation  appealed,  watched  him 
shrewdly;  at  times  he  sent  for  him,  talked  to  him. 
He  put  him  on  special  duty  here  and  there,  partic- 
ularly among  foreigners. 

For  Policeman  Kelly  knew  a  goodish  bit  now  about 
New  York's  motley  foreign-born  population.  He 


ETHICS  AND  HUMANITIES  223 

made  his  knowledge  of  French  rather  an  asset,  and 
he  used  to  sit  up  nights  increasing  his  knowledge  of 
Italian.  He  thought  that  maybe  if  he  could  speak 
to  these  going-to-be  citizens  in  their  own  tongue, 
they  might  be  more  willing  to  learn  his,  and  so 
make  for  mutual  understanding.  The  result  of 
this  simple  logic  astonished  him  at  times,  for  un- 
intelligible foreigners  became  more  and  more  in- 
telligible humans.  Assured  that  he  tried  to  and 
generally  did  understand  what  they  were  trying  to 
tell  him,  that  this  exponent  of  American  law  and  order 
viewed  them  and  theirs  with  sympathy,  their  attitude 
changed.  They  were  not  afraid  or  suspicious  of  him. 
They  adored  him.  Several  times  they  gave  him 
timely  information — such  information  as  made  the 
commissioner  open  his  eyes. 

"It  's  Dominick's  boy  on  the  job,"  thought  the 
commissioner,  and  grinned  to  himself.  "A  great  old 
boy — Dominick ! ' ' 

The  young  man's  friendship  with  Jacques  bore 
heavy  fruit,  too.  The  painter  had  an  uncannily  inti- 
mate knowledge  of  the  under  dog's  starved  and  booted 
days,  his  mangy,  fleabitten  nights.  He  had  a 
surgeon's  first-hand  knowledge  of  the  cankers  that 
eat  into  the  vitals  of  New  York,  and  it  titillated  his 
Gallic  irony  to  impart  this  first-hand  knowledge, 
with  biting  and  pungent  comments,  to  a  New  York 
cop.  Fancy  talking  sociology  to  a  New  York  cop ! 
It  gave  Jacques  a  delightful  sense  of  flouting  and 
evading  the  law  in  thus  forcing  one  of  its  exponents 
to  become  conscious  of  the  cause  of  things  the  results 


224  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

of  which  he  was  there  to  suppress  and  punish.  But 
his  irony  presently  deepened  into  respect.  The  cop 
imbibed  his  first-hand  knowledge — and  tried  it  out, 
rather  effectively. 

Jacques  said  presently  to  Mary  Hallet: 

"If  I  could  catch  enough  college  chaps,  and  put 
them  on  the  New  York  police  force  for  a  post-graduate 
course  in  ethics  and  the  humanities,  I  'd  have  the 
greatest  little  bunch  of  advanced  sociologists  in  the 
world." 

Something  of  all  this  Miss  Honora  sensed.  Some- 
thing of  it  Brian,  managed  to  tell  her,  sitting,  holding 
her  hand,  in  the  attic  bedroom.  She  kept  saying  to 
herself:  "Why,  thank  God!  Why,  thank  God!" 
And  it  seemed  to  her  she  was  nearer  to  him  now  than 
she  had  ever  been  in  the  old  days ;  that  her  fears  for 
him  had  really  done  him  an  injustice.  And  she  had 
been  sorry  for  Brian,  thrust  out  of  his  kingdom — as 
though  he  could  ever  be  less  than  himself!  The  tears 
that  came  into  her  eyes  were  not  unhappy  ones.  She 
said,  patting  his  hand: 

' '  Don 't  leave  us  too  far  behind,  dear ! ' ' 

"Aunt  Hon,  it  isn't  you  poking  fun  at  a  poor  but 
honest  cop!" 

"Poking  fun!"  cried  Miss  Honora.  "I  Ve  never 
known  before  what  an  impressive  creature  a  cop — 
you  wish  me  to  call  you  a  cop  ? — can  be !  No  wonder 
the  cops  boss  New  York ! ' ' 

They  went  downstairs,  to  find  Mrs.  Callaghan  darn- 
ing socks,  Brian's  among  them.  There  she  sat,  in  a 
comfortable  rocker — clean,  kind,  rosy,  her  glasses 


ETHICS  AND  HUMANITIES  225 

astride  her  nose — beside  the  dining-room  table,  upon 
Which  the  cat,  with  none  to  say  him  nay,  reposed 
sphinxlike  and  supercilious  on  the  embroidered  center- 
piece. The  widow  looked  up  smilingly  to  welcome 
Brian's  aunt. 

After  a  while  she  gave  Dominick's  sister  tea  out 
of  a  Rebecca-at-the-well  teapot,  and  took  her  over  the 
house,  upon  which  one  felt  the  lovely  and  indefinable 
impression  of  Colette  O 'Shane's  personality.  Colette 
had  placed  her  hand  here  and  there,  and  one  remem- 
bered that  old  house  with  pleasure,  and  had  the  wish 
to  return  to  it. 

After  a  while  Miss  Honora  went  back  to  Dominick's 
big,  handsome,  empty  house,  and  was  ushered  in  by 
Dominick's  big,  handsome,  empty  new  butler.  As 
she  went  upstairs  she  kept  contrasting  the  Widow 
Callaghan's  home  and  Dominick's. 

"My  poor  rich  Dominick!"  sighed  Miss  Honora. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  TRAP 

FRANCISZKA  had  advised  Marya  Jadwiga  to 
do  herself  up  in  her  best :  ' '  Old  people  always 
like  to  see  young  people  looking  bright  and 
smart."  She  had  even  offered  to  help  the  girl  buy  a 
new  dress  for  her  forthcoming  call  upon  that  wealthy 
old  lady  who  might,  if  she  liked  her,  engage  her  as  a 
companion.  Marya  Jadwiga 's  gentle  but  firm  re- 
fusal, which  seemed  to  Franciszka  to  have  a  touch  of 
haughtiness  about  it,  nettled  the  woman. 

"Oh,  all  right !  Do  as  you  please.  It  's  up  to  you, 
not  me,"  she  said  sharply. 

She  need  not  have  worried  about  Marya  Jadwiga 's 
appearance,  even  in  the  plain  coat  suit.  Her  hair  was 
like  black  satin;  the  stain  with  which  the  gipsy  had 
disguised  her  had  long  since  gone,  leaving  her  milk- 
white.  Her  eagerness,  her  hopefulness  put  a  touch 
of  unwonted  color  in  her  cheeks,  and  gave  a  new 
sparkle  to  her  eyes.  The  Man  Who  Paid  always 
caught  his  breath  when  he  looked  at  her  after  an 
absence:  she  came  upon  him  with  an  ever-fresh  sur- 
prise. His  eyes  drooped;  his  throat  tightened;  his 
pulses  leaped  as  they  had  not  leaped  for  years. 

Cool,  sweet,  virginal,  friendless,  she  was  so  wholly 

226 


THE  TRAP  227 

dear  and  desirable  that  the  ardent  eagerness  of  his 
passion  for  her  made  him  feel  young.  She  upset  all 
his  conclusions  and  calculations  about  women.  To- 
night, sitting  beside  her  in  his  car,  he  said  to  himself 
fiercely :  ' '  This  one  is  worth  all  the  rest  put  together. 
I  '11  keep  this  one.  By  God,  she  's  mine!  I  found 
her.  I  'd  like  to  see  anybody  get  her  away  from  me ! " 

Her  nearness,  the  outline  of  her  slim  body,  the 
delicacy  of  her  profile,  filled  him  with  the  pleasure  of 
a  collector  who  has  to  his  hand  a  rare  and  perfect 
object  which  by  the  exercise  of  skill  and  discretion  he 
may  acquire.  He  struggled  to  retain  his  attitude  of 
composed,  fatherly  friendship. 

The  car  presently  stopped  before  a  very  handsome, 
dignified  house,  in  a  very  handsome,  dignified  street. 

"Oh,  I  hope  I  shall  please  your  cousin!"  said  the 
young  girl,  nervously. 

"You  would  please  anybody,"  he  told  her  warmly; 
and  taking  her  hand  he  led  her  up  the  steps,  and 
into  a  wide,  softly  lighted  hall.  There  were  Turner 
color-prints  on  the  paneled  walls,  a  few  wonderful 
old  chairs  and  tables,  an  exquisite  mirror;  and 
farther  off  one  saw  a  cabinet  full  of  old  Chelsea, 
Crown  Derby,  and  Dresden.  The  moment  one  entered 
that  house  one  was  conscious  of  the  presence  of  flowers, 
in  profusion  but  arranged  with  exquisite  care.  The 
large  square  drawing-room,  a  miracle  of  skilfully 
blended  color,  had  this  crowning  note  of  flowers. 
Marya  Jadwiga  at  once  liked  the  old  lady  who  loved 
blossoms  so  prodigally. 

With  a  murmured  apology  the  man  left  her,  she  sup- 


228  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

posed  to  consult  his  cousin,  and  during  his  short 
absence  she  examined  her  surroundings,  with  an  in- 
creasing pleasure.  Instinctively  she  reacted  to  the 
ordered,  beautiful  room,  which  soothed  and  charmed 
her.  She  hoped  with  all  her  heart  that  the  old  lady 
would  like  her.  Think  of  living  in  this  enchanting 
house,  where  books  and  flowers  and  paintings  and 
lovely  old  furniture  surrounded  one  at  every  turn! 
Here  was  nothing  overcrowded,  nothing  overdone. 
One  saw  a  bit  of  cool  jade,  a  piece  of  old  china,  the 
gleam  of  old  brass,  a  chair  covered  with  gilded  and 
painted  Spanish  leather,  a  bowl  of  flowers  reflected 
in  a  Venetian  mirror;  each  just  where  it  should  be, 
each  a  perfect  detail  in  the  room's  completed  picture. 
Her  pleasure  in  these  details,  in  the  atmosphere  of 
this  house,  showed  her  with  unpleasant  clarity  how 
hateful  was  the  atmosphere  of  Franciszka's  house, 
how  hateful  her  work  there.  The  woman  grated  on 
her  sensibilities,  at  times  almost  unbearably.  There 
was  in  Marya  Jadwiga  a  fastidiousness,  spiritual  and 
mental  rather  than  physical,  which  Franciszka  was 
constantly  offending.  She  was  always  telling  herself 
that  the  woman  meant  to  be  kind,  was  kind ;  and  yet 
she  could  not  make  herself  like  Franciszka.  Oh,  if 
she  could  but  come  here,  and  find  some  quiet,  peace- 
ful refuge  near  by  for  Wenceslaus! — take  the  dear 
old  man  away  from  those  surroundings  which  tor- 
mented and  changed  him !  Marya  Jadwiga  put  up  a 
little  prayer  to  the  Virgin. 

Her  fatherly  old  friend  returned,  smiling,  slightly 
apologetic.    His  cousin,  he  explained,  had  had  to  go 


THE  TRAP  229 

out,  and  had  been  detained.  She  might  not  be  able 
to  return  for  another  hour.  But,  as  she  was  really 
anxious  to  meet  Miss  Fabre,  she  had  left  word  that 
they  were  to  await  her  return.  She  hoped  that,  as  a 
special  favor  to  herself,  they  would  dine  together 
during  her  absence. 

The  young  girl  hesitated. 

' '  It  will  please  me  very  much  indeed  if  you  will  ac- 
cept my  cousin's  somewhat  informal  invitation,"  he 
told  her.  And  he  added,  with  a  smile :  ' '  Please  say 
yes,  Miss  Fabre.  I  'm  hungry!" 

She  said  yes,  wishing  to  please  him.  He  disap- 
peared again  for  a  few  minutes,  to  give  some  necessary 
orders,  and  on  his  return  sat  down  beside  her  and 
tried  to  draw  her  into  conversation  about  herself. 
She  wished  that  she  could  take  him  into  her  con- 
fidence and  ask  his  counsel,  but  beyond  the  simple 
statement  that  her  father  had  been  a  scholar,  and  that 
their  life  had  been  a  very  secluded  one,  she  might 
tell  him  nothing — not  even  her  true  name.  But  this 
was  quite  enough  to  satisfy  him.  He  saw  in  her  a 
little  foreigner,  the  daughter  of  some  old  French  pro- 
fessor, beggarly  poor,  doubtless,  as  professors  some- 
times are.  Had  things  been  otherwise  she  would  not, 
she  could  not — a  girl  like  her — have  been  here  alone 
with  him  to-night.  Oh,  yes,  he  was  satisfied! 

A  voice  from  the  doorway  said: 

"Dinner  is  served,  sir." 

He  rose  and  offered  her  his  arm,  to  lead  her  into 
the  dining-room.  She,  too,  stood  up,  and  found  her- 
self looking  into  the  pale  and  melancholy  face  of  the 


230  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

man  Jan  Dzylinski,  called  Jean  Remain.  There  was 
that  in  his  swift,  almost  solemn  look  which  disturbed 
her  for  a  moment.  But  she  supposed  her  unexpected 
presence  here  had  startled  him ;  and  he  could  not,  of 
course,  recognize  her,  or  give  any  sign  that  he  had 
ever  seen  her  before.  'She  wished  she  could  tell  him 
that  better  things  promised  for  her,  now  that  she  had 
found  so  kind  a  friend;  and  that  she  might,  since 
God  is  good,  come  here  to  live.  And  she  felt  that 
while  that  package  of  papers  remained  with  her  she 
would  know  a  greater  security  if  she  could  be  under 
the  same  roof  with  a  member  of  the  Brotherhood. 

On  her  host's  arm  she  entered  the  dining-room, 
and  was  seated  opposite  him  at  a  table  sparkling  with 
silver  and  crystal.  Jan,  a  well-trained,  silent  autom- 
aton, moved  about  his  duties  noiselessly.  There 
were  choice  viands;  there  was  wine  in  Venetian 
glasses  as  frailly  beautiful  as  soap-bubbles.  One  wine 
in  particular  her  pleasant  host  urged  upon  her, 
insisting  that  she  must  have  at  least  one  glass  of  it 
to  please  him.  But,  raised  on  Spartan  fare,  of  simple 
tastes,  used  to  plain  living  and  high  thinking,  and 
with  the  force  of  her  father's  great  spirit  a  constant 
example  before  her  all  her  life,  she  was  abstemious 
as  to  food,  and  wines  held  no  lure  for  her.  Her  un- 
spoiled palate  did  not  like  the  taste.  When  the  silent 
serving-man,  at  a  repeated  command,  stood  beside  her 
chair  with  the  bottle  in  his  hand,  it  seemed  to  her 
that  he  bent  upon  her  an  imploring  look,  and  that 
when  she  smilingly  repeated  her  refusal,  relief 
showed  for  a  moment  in  his  impassive  countenance. 


THE  TRAP  231 

Before  he  moved  away  he  bent  to  straighten  a  bit  of 
the  table  service,  and  made  the  slight  sign  that  meant 
"Danger. " 

Her  heart  beat  violently  for  the  moment.  Danger? 
Where?  What  had  he  heard?  Did  he  know  any- 
thing of  Them?  Had  she  been  seen  with  the  Japa- 
nese? She  wished  to  put  her  hand  to  her  breast, 
where  the  remaining  papers  lay.  Well,  but  she  had 
found,  in  her  hour  of  need,  a  friend,  a  kindly  friend. 
And  her  heart  warmed  to  the  old  gentleman  who  was 
smiling  at  her  across  the  table.  Here  at  least  and 
with  him,  she  was  safe. 

When  they  returned  to  the  drawing-room  he  sat 
down  beside  her,  on  a  sofa  piled  with  the  most  com- 
fortable cushions.  It  was  very  quiet  in  the  softly 
lighted  house :  the  city 's  noise  was  but  faintly  heard ; 
one  seemed  shut  away  from  all  the  ugly  sounds  and 
sights  of  the  world.  She  gave  a  sigh  of  pleasure. 
The  rolled  collar  of  her  simple  blouse  showed  the 
slope  of  her  throat,  a  little  tower  of  ivory.  Her  eyes 
made  him  think  of  the  Moonlight  Sonata.  She  had 
the  lovely  faculty  of  repose:  she  never  fidgeted, — 
Zuleski  had  seen  to  that, — and  now  her  ringless  hands 
were  loosely  and  restfully  clasped  in  her  lap,  pink 
palms  uppermost.  They  were  ensnaring  hands. 
The  man's  eyes  rested  upon  them  greedily,  and  of  a 
sudden  he  leaned  forward  and  took  them  in  his  own, 
gently  enough.  But  she  was  startled.  She  had  the 
dislike  of  wild  things  to  being  handled;  the  same 
swift,  intuitive  recoil  against  being  touched.  And, 
somehow,  the  man's  face  had  changed.  She  wished, 


232  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

with  a  beating  heart,  that  that  old  lady  would  come, 
come  quickly.  She  asked  anxiously: 

"Do  you  think  your  cousin  will  come  soon?  Had 
we  better  wait  any  longer?  I  might  come  again, 
mightn't  I?" 

A  curious  look  flashed  across  his  face.  He  stared 
at  her  avidly.  The  veins  in  his  forehead  grew  darker. 
After  a  moment  he  said  in  a  thick  voice : 

"I  'm  my  cousin,  my  dear!  You  came  here  to- 
night to  see  me." 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  recognize  the  deadly 
import  of  his  words,  nor  realize  her  danger.  But  she 
tried,  ineffectually,  to  release  herself  from  the  grasp 
of  his  hands. 

"You  came  here,"  he  repeated,  breathing  quickly, 
"to  see  me." 

"But  your  cousin — the  old  lady — "  began  the  girl, 
confusedly. 

"There  is  no  old  lady.     There  is  only — I." 

"But  why,  then,  am  I  here?  Why  did  you  bring 
me  here?"  she  asked  blankly. 

"I  'm  trying  to  tell  you,"  said  he,  rather  shortly. 
"To  see  me.  This  house  is  mine.  I  brought  you  here 
because  I  wish  you  to  stay  here,  with  me." 

She  still  failed  to  grasp  his  full  meaning.  She  had 
trusted  him  so  completely  that  she  was  not  able,  all 
in  a  moment,  to  distrust  him,  although  his  altered 
look  and  manner  distressed  and  shocked  her.  And 
then  a  thought  came  to  her  that  brought  the  color  to 
her  pale  cheeks.  Looking  at  him  with  her  clear, 
grave  eyes,  she  said  directly: 


THE  TRAP  233 

"I  am  strange  to  your  country  and  its  ways.  But 
is  it  that  you  wish  to — to  make  a  marriage  with  me, 
Monsieur?  Because  I — you  do  not  know — "  She 
stopped  then,  not  knowing  how  she  could  tell  him 
more. 

He  was  a  bit  taken  aback  by  her  directness.  He 
had  not  expected  this  from  her.  Profoundly  corrupt, 
distrustful  with  the  cold  distrust  of  the  withered  in 
heart,  he  failed  to  understand  the  clear  transparency 
of  her  honesty.  He  merely  thought  the  little  thing 
was  more  cunning  than  he  had  expected  her  to  be,  and 
cleverer.  Make  a  marriage  with  her!  He  knew  his 
own  reputation.  Show  her  as  his  mistress,  young 
and  beautiful,  and  envious  eyes  would  follow  him. 
Show  himself  fallen  into  matrimony — at  his  age,  and 
hers — and  malicious  eyes  would  follow  him  at  every 
turn;  he  would  be  one  of  those  husbands  it  is  almost 
a  duty  to  deceive !  Of  a  sudden  he  laughed. 

"You  are  a  very  clever  little  girl,"  said  he,  with 
mocking  admiration.  "None  of  them  ever  had  the 
nerve  to  propose  that  to  me  before!"  And  he 
laughed  again. 

His  laughter  displeased  her,  offended  her.  She 
saw  that  he  was  misunderstanding  her.  Or  perhaps 
she  had  misunderstood  him,  all  along  ?  With  a  sharp 
jerk  she  freed  her  hands,  and  stood  up,  facing  him. 

"I  have  said  I  am  strange  to  your  country  and  its 
ways,"  said  the  little  countess,  with  dignity,  "so  you 
will  pardon  me  if  I  do  not  understand  you  to-night. 
You  brought  me  here,  you  told  me,  to  meet  your 
cousin.  Now  you  tell  me  there  is  no  cousin,  that  you 


234  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

have  brought  me  to  your  house  to  stay  with  you." 
She  looked  at  him  steadily.  "Monsieur,  there  could 
be  but  one  way  for  me  to  stay  here  with  you,  and  that 
would  be  if  I  should  make  marriage  with  you.  And 
that  could  not  be.  You  will  please  understand? 
That  could  never  be!" 

"You  're  perfectly  right,  my  dear.  That  couldn't 
be,"  said  he,  equitably.  "But  you  can  stay,  all  the 
same.  And,  see  here:  I  pay  for  what  I  get.  You 
don 't  lose  anything.  I  like  you  better  than  I  've  ever 
liked  anybody — and  I  'm  willing  to  do  more  to  please 
you.  You  can  just  about  name  your  own  price. 
Come!  you  are  not  a  fool!" 

For  a  dreadful  moment,  facing  realization,  Marya 
Jadwiga  felt  that  the  world  was  trying  to  slip  away 
from  her.  This  terrible  old  man  looking  at  her 
with  unspeakable  eyes — this  the  fatherly  friend  she 
had  trusted!  She  heard  herself  laying  in  a  level 
voice : 

"No,  I  am  not  a  fool.  I  understand  you — now. 
And  I  will  go." 

1 '  Go  where  ? "  he  asked.  ' '  To  Franciszka  's  house  ? ' ' 
His  smile  was  mockery's  self. 

No.  She  could  not  go  back  to  Franciska's  house. 
Franciszka  had  known.  And  Franciszka  had  sent  her 
here.  At  that,  horror  laid  hold  on  her. 

"No,  no,  my  dear!  You  can't  go  back  to  Fran- 
ciszka's.  She  wouldn't  be  at  all  glad  to  see  you," 
said  he,  significantly.  "You  can't  go  to  anybody 
else,  either,  can  you?  Because  there  isn't  any- 


THE  TRAP  235 

body  willing  to  do   anything  for  you,   except  me. 

"Come,  my  girl,  think  a  bit.  Be  reasonable. 
You  '11  never  regret  it.  You  like  this  house,  don't 
you  ?  It  's  yours  for  the  taking.  There  's  nothing  I 
won't  give  you,  nothing  I  won't  do  for  you,  if  you  '11 
be  reasonable.  I  tell  you,  I  care  more  for  you,  than 
I  've  ever  cared  for  anything  or  anybody  before. 
You  Ve  got  me.  And  that, ' '  he  added  with  deadly  in- 
tensity, "is  why  I  brought  you  here  to-night." 

Something  like  a  still,  white-hot  flame  was  rising 
in  Marya  Jadwiga.  This  frightful  old  man,  who  had 
brought  her  here  by  fraud  and  trickery  and  lies, 
was  offering  her — her — dishonor.  .  .  .  "All  the  men 
and  women  of  our  house  .  .  .  Remember  us,  Marya 
Jadwiga!  .  .  .  You  are  my  son,  as  well  as  my  daugh- 
ter— the  last  Zuleski.  .  .  ."  She  could  hear  her 
father's  voice  in  her  ears.  And  to-night  one  was  of- 
fering her — and  him,  and  all  the  dead — shame.  The 
flame  of  proud  and  righteous  anger  mounted  against 
the  outrage.  Her  head  went  up ;  her  young  eyes  were 
icy. 

"Cowardly,  base  old  man!  I,  belong  to  you?  I? 
Move  aside,  please !  I  am  going ! ' ' 

She  turned  to  go,  but  he  lurched  forward  and 
caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"No,"  he  panted.  "Never!  Say  what  you  will, 
think  what  you  will,  but  here  you  stay.  You  little 
fool !  do  you  think  I  've  brought  you  here  to  let  you 
walk  out  for  the  wishing?  No,  by  God!"  And  he 
sought  violently  to  seize  and  hold  her,  to  pinion  her 


236  TWO  SHALL  BE  BOEN 

in  a  ferocious  embrace.  The  strong,  wild  creature, 
roused  and  at  bay,  resisted  furiously.  They  swayed 
in  a  silent,  horrible  struggle. 

As  she  turned  and  twisted  in  his  grasp,  she  re- 
membered. She  remembered,  and  managed  to  slip 
one  free  hand  into  her  breast,  her  groping,  desperate 
fingers  seeking  the  gipsy  woman's  gift.  Her  fingers 
felt  the  slender  hilt,  plucked  at  it,  drew  the  little 
knife  forth.  The  man  did  not  see  that  swift  move- 
ment. But  she  saw  his  eyes,  like  a  wolf's  eyes,  and 
felt  on  her  shrinking  flesh  a  horrible  kiss.  The  toy- 
like  knife  that  had  belonged  to  chiefs  and  the  women 
of  chiefs,  and  must  be  used  when  the  hour  struck, 
flashed  up  and  caught  him  in  the  left  breast. 

Almost  instantly  he  released  her.  His  face  ex- 
pressed an  absurd  surprise,  a  sort  of  ghastly  astonish- 
ment. His  eyes  stretched  as  though  they  would  start 
from  his  head;  his  mouth  went  slack  and  sagging; 
his  cheeks  bagged.  With  a  fumbling  and  uncertain 
movement  he  put  his  hand  to  his  breast,  where  the 
viperish  little  knife  had  bitten  him. 

' '  Ton  f  Why — why —  TOM  f  "  he  gabbled,  and  stood 
swaying  as  though  shaken  by  a  strong  wind.  His 
straining  eyes  stared  owlishly  at  the  panting,  di- 
sheveled girl  who  stared  back  at  him,  the  deadly  toy 
in  her  hand.  He  gulped,  as  though  trying  to  swallow. 
Still  his  look  was  one  of  astonishment.  Then,  as 
though  drunkenness  were  stealing  his  senses  and  his 
powers  away  from  him,  he  began  to  crumple.  Ever 
so  gently  he  began  to  slide  downward,  his  back  against 
the  back  of  the  sofa.  His  mouth  opened  and  closed, 


THE  TRAP  237 

and  fell  open  again.  His  eyes  shut  as  though  sleep 
had  suddenly  seized  upon  them. 

' l  Oh,  my  God !  what  shall  I  do  ?  What  shall  I  do  ? " 
whispered  Marya  Jadwiga,  staring  down  at  him. 

"You  must  go  away  from  here  at  once,"  said  a 
voice  close  beside  her.  Jan  Dzylinski  stood  star- 
ing palely  from  her  to  the  old  man  sprawled  help- 
lessly on  the  floor.  "And  first — put  away  that." 
He  took  from  her  the  small  knife  which  she  me- 
chanically clutched,  bent,  and  wiped  it  on  its 
victim's  coat,  and  handed  it  back  to  her.  There  are 
certain  pictures  which  remain  forever  imprinted  upon 
one's  brain.  This  picture  of  Jan  Dzylinski  wiping 
a  little  knife  and,  with  an  impassive  face,  handing  it 
back  to  her,  stamped  itself  indelibly  upon  the  girl's 
consciousness.  The  man  began  to  gather  up  her  be- 
longings, helping  her  into  her  coat,  handing  her  her 
hat,  thrusting  handbag  and  gloves  upon  her. 

"I  couldn't  warn  you  openly,  but  that  wine  was 
fixed.  I  kept  as  close  as  I  dared.  I  would  have  inter- 
fered in  another  minute,"  he  told  her,  hurriedly. 
"Pani,  I  am  new  to  this  place.  I  took  it  because  of 
you. 

"I  am  one  of  the  Brotherhood,  pani.  A  spy,  yes. 
I  gave  you  the  sign  that  night  because  I  'd  been  told 
off  to  look  after  you.  We  learned  about  Franciszka — 
and — him."  He  nodded  toward  the  prone  figure. 
"They  work  together.  That  's  why  I  came  here — to 
keep  in  touch.  He  was  glad  enough  to  get  a 
French  servant.  I  did  n't  know — I  did  n't  think  that 
he  was  bringing  you  here  to-night."  He  paused. 


238  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"He  sent  all  the  other  servants  off.  I  was  to  go 
too,  after  I  'd  cleared  the  table.  But  when  I  saw 
that  the  lady  he  had  expected  was  you — that  Fran- 
ciszka  had  let  him  bring  you  here — !  Pani,  I  saw 
him  fix  that  wine.  So  I  stayed.  I — I  hid,  even. 
And  now  you  must  go.  I  '11  let  you  out." 

' '  Is  he  dead  ? ' '  she  asked. 

"I  don't  know.  I  shall  have  to  send  for  doctors, 
and  maybe  the  police,  after  you  go,"  said  Jan, 
hurriedly.  "Oh,  you  must  go!  you  must  go!" 

He  led  her  into  the  hall,  sweet  with  the  scent  of 
flowers.  In  a  whisper  he  was  trying  to  tell  her  that 
she  must  go  to  a  house  on  Christopher  Street,  where 
a  friend  of  his  would  shelter  her  for  the  time  being. 
He  himself  would  stay  here  to  summon  help,  and  to 
cover  her  escape. 

He  opened  the  door,  and  in  another  moment  she 
was  in  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WENCESLAUS  PASSES 

WENCESLAUS  judged  that  Marya  Jadwiga 
would  not  return  for  several  hours,  and 
he  was  restless  in  her  absence.  He  said 
to  Franciszka,  who  met  him  in  the  hall,  "  I  am  going 
out." 

"You  might  just  as  well  be  out  as  in,  for  all  the 
good  you  do,"  said  she,  unpleasantly. 

' '  When  the  little  mistress  finds  another  place,  I,  too, 
will  leave  your  house,  Franciszka."  He  was  begin- 
ning to  understand  her. 

"I  'm  afraid  my  poor  house  isn't  good  enough  for 
you  two,  considering  where  you  came  from  and  what 
you  left  behind,"  she  jibed.  "Well,  when  'the  little 
mistress'  gets  another  place  to  live, — and  I  'm  pretty 
sure  she  's  going  to  find  it  to-night, — I  wish  you  both 
joy  of  her  new  job!" 

Wenceslaus  looked  at  her  with  an  intensity  that 
made  her  temper  flare. 

"I  didn't  ask  either  of  you  to  come  here,  did  I? 
You  came,  I  took  you  in,  and  I  don't  see  any  thanks 
coming  my  way  for  doing  it." 

"Should  you  be  thanked  for  putting  on  Pan 
Florian's  daughter  the  work  of  servants,  woman?" 
he  asked  sternly  and  bitterly. 

239 


240  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"Oh,  that  's  where  the  shoe  pinches,  is  it?  "Well, 
is  she  any  better  than  anybody  else?  I  've  done  that 
sort  of  work  myself,  have  n't  I  ?  Why  should  n't  she, 
then?"  she  snarled. 

"She  is  Pan  Florian's  daughter.  You  were  born 
a  servant,"  he  told  her  succinctly. 

"Was  I?  I  haven't  lived  one,  though,  and  I  won't 
die  one,  either,"  she  retorted,  her  face  flaming,  her 
eyes  flashing  dangerously.  "Old  fool!  your  fine  lady 
may  do  worse  than  servant's  work  before  she 
finishes!"  He  could  feel  the  hatred,  the  menace  in 
her  tone.  His  head  went  up. 

"She  could  never  be  less  than  herself,"  he  said 
quietly.  "And  you  could  never  be  more  than  your- 
self, woman."  He  put  on  his  hat  and  moved  toward 
the  door. 

Anger  took  her  by  the  throat.  She  wished  to  jeer 
at  him,  to  mock  him  with  the  disaster  hanging  over 
him  through  Marya  Jadwiga,  even  then.  But  pru- 
dence restrained  her.  All  she  dared  do  was  to  bawl 
at  him,  clenching  her  fists: 

"Don't  you  come  back  here!  I  won't  be  insulted 
by  you  any  longer!  Don't  you  come  back  here!" 

Wenceslaus  turned  and  gave  her  a  long  look,  so 
that  she  fell  silent.  Then  he  walked  out,  a  sad  and 
solitary  figure  in  the  alien  streets.  People  passed  and 
repassed  him,  and  some  turned  to  look  at  the  tall, 
foreign  old  man.  He  did  not  see  them.  He  was  back 
in  the  old  home,  the  only  home  he  could  ever  know, 
serving  Pan  Florian,  listening  for  his  voice,  wistful 
for  his  rare  smile.  A  choking  lump  rose  in  his 


WENCESLAUS  PASSES  241 

throat;  tears  blinded  him.  .  .  .  Oh,  Pan  Florian! 
Brother!  You  are  gone,  and  I,  your  lost  dog,  am 
here — with  all  a  lost  dog's  despair  and  terror. 

He  hoped  for  Marya  Jadwiga,  who  was  young.  For 
himself  Wenceslaus  knew  that  all  things  were  finished, 

He  had  no  idea  whither  he  walked.  He  went  on 
aimlessly.  For  once  the  shop  windows  spread  with 
marvels  failed  to  entice  him,  the  gigantic  electric  signs 
went  unnoticed;  nor  had  the  faces  flowing  by 
him  any  interest  for  him.  They  went  by  like  things 
in  a  mist,  figures  in  a  dream.  He  hesitated  at  cross- 
ings, was  swept  onward  with  impatient  crowds,  and 
moved  forward  again,  unheeding,  unseeing.  It  was 
the  first  time  he  had  been  out  alone.  Marya  Jadwiga 
not  being  with  him,  he  was  free  to  indulge  the  grief 
that,  since  the  news  of  the  master's  death  came, 
had  been  eating  into  his  consciousness  like  a  cancer. 

Back  there  at  home  the  moon  would  be  looking  into 
the  uncurtained  windows  of  the  rooms  that  had  known 
Pan  Florian  but  would  know  him  no  more.  The 
library  would  be  lightless  and  empty ;  no  glorious  old 
scholar  would  be  working  there,  ever  again.  How  had 
the  end  come  to  him?  Had  Wincenty  the  gipsy, 
who  adored  him  as  a  superior  being,  been  there  to  hear 
his  last  sigh  and  close  his  eyes  ?  Or  had  he  been  quite 
alone?  Ah!  no  matter  how  it  had  been,  Wences- 
laus had  not  been  there  to  raise  the  beloved  gray  head ! 
Wenceslaus  and  Marya  Jadwiga  did  not  even  know 
where,  nor  how,  nor  by  whom  he  had  been  buried. 
Had  it  been  in  Marya  Jadwiga 's  favorite  haunt,  by 
the  ruined  chapel  in  the  gipsies'  glen?  He  hoped  so: 


242  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

there  would  be  green  grass  there,  and  trees,  and  run- 
ning water.  One  might  sleep  there  peacefully. 

He  had  walked  much  farther  than  usual.  Coming 
to  himself,  with  a  start,  he  saw  that  he  had  lost  his 
way.  -His  head  ached,  his  eyes  burned  with  tears,  and 
his  throat  felt  tight.  He  did  not  know  which  way  to 
turn,  nor  whom  to  ask ;  he  did  not  even  know  how  to 
ask,  for  such  English  as  he  had  scraped  together 
deserted  him  now,  went  quite  out  of  his  head.  Be- 
wildered by  the  swiftly  rushing  stream  of  traffic,  the 
lights,  the  noise,  the  crowd,  the  old  man  turned  his 
head  with  the  true  lost-dog  look  of  distress  and  fear. 
He  grew  more  and  more  frightened.  Something  was 
happening  to  his  head:  he  could  not  think.  He  was 
conscious,  in  his  dumb  misery,  of  one  great  longing: 
he  wished  to  lie  down  beside  a  grave  half  the  world 
and  all  the  sea  away,  to  spread  his  arms  above  it,  and 
rest.  And  he  wished  to  explain  this  to  Marya  Jad- 
wiga,  who  would  understand.  He  must  find  Marya 
Jadwiga,  and  tell  her  that  he  had  to  go  home. 

He  turned  quickly,  stepped  off  the  curb,  and  started 
across  the  street.  People  shouted,  and  that  increased 
his  confusion.  He  did  not  know  what  they  were  say- 
ing. Then  something,  coming  swiftly,  resistlessly, 
struck  him.  He  felt  himself  going  down,  had  a  con- 
fused consciousness  of  lights,  shouts,  and  a  stab  of 
pain.  Blessed  oblivion  closed  in  upon  him. 

The  driver  of  the  car  which  had  struck  him,  and 
his  companion,  were  insisting  that  the  old  man  had 
stepped  in  front  of  them.  They  asked  the  policeman 
who  had  pushed  his  way  through  the  quickly 


WENCESLAUS  PASSES  243 

gathered  crowd  if  they  might  not  rush  him  to  the 
hospital  in  their  car.  The  officer,  notebook  in  hand, 
said  that  an  ambulance  had  already  been  summoned, 
and  was  on  the  way. 

The  two  men  expressed  deep  concern.  They  gave 
their  names  willingly  enough;  they  explained  to  the 
policeman  that  although  it  was  the  old  man's  fault 
and  not  theirs,  they  would  defray  all  costs,  and  they 
waited,  decently,  until  the  ambulance  had  clanged 
up  and  carried  the  old  man  away.  Then  they  too 
drove  off.  It  was  on  the  face  of  it  the  usual  un- 
avoidable accident.  The  fellows  seemed  to  be  Kus- 
sians,  the  policeman  reflected,  putting  his  notebook  in 
his  pocket ;  he  had  had  to  ask  them  twice  over  how  to 
spell  their  names.  The  old  man  would  probably  die. 
The  policeman  resumed  his  stroll.  It  was  all  in  the 
day's  work. 

While  an  old  man  neared  his  journey's  end  and  a 
young  girl  faced  Fate,  the  tall  blond  gentlemen  who 
had  rung  Franciszka's  door  bell  was  saying,  impa- 
tiently, that  he  wished  to  see  the  mistress  of  the  house. 
Franciszka,  who  opened  the  door,  was  instantly  im- 
pressed by  his  appearance,  recognizing  in  him  one 
of  the  highborn.  She  had  not  been  Americanized  out 
of  her  inherited  respect  for  thejhighborn,  and  of  all  of 
them  she  had  ever  seen,  this  one  was  by  far  the  most 
respect-inspiring.  She  said,  bowing  deeply: 
"My  name  is  Franciszka  Lanska,  sir." 
"So.  You  have  with  you  a  young  lady  who  calls 
herself  Miss  Fabre,  and  an  old  man,  "Wenceslaus,  who 


244  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

passes  for  her  grandfather."  He  did  not  ask  a  ques- 
tion; he  stated  a  fact.  Ignoring  the  chair  she  prof- 
fered, he  remained  standing, — tall,  erect,  soldierly, — 
and  looked  at  her  in  a  manner  which  brought  the 
blood  to  her  cheek ;  a  look  which  weighed  her,  coldly 
maybe  menacingly. 

"Summon  the  young  lady  at  once.  I  wish  to  see 
her,"  he  ordered. 

Franciszka  felt  vexed.  Perhaps  it  was  not  so  well 
that  she  had  let  Marya  Jadwiga  go,  this  evening  of 
all  evenings.  That  could  have  been  managed  later. 
She  said  unwillingly: 

"I  am  sorry,  sir,  but  she  has  gone  out." 

"Where?  With  whom?  How  long  has  she  been 
gone?  When  will  she  return?"  he  demanded. 
There  was  that  in  his  manner  which  cowed  Franciszka, 
bold  as  she  was.  Something  of  her  delight  in  hav- 
ing pushed  the  girl  into  the  jaws  of  the  trap,  wilted. 
Had  she,  perhaps,  acted  too  precipitately,  allowed 
hate  to  blind  her  to  caution?  If  the  girl  had  friends 
— such  as  this  man,  for  one — there  would  be  very 
serious  trouble  for  somebody. 

"Well?"  he  demanded  again,  frowning.  What  did 
the  woman  mean  by  keeping  him  waiting?  To  him, 
consumed  with  eagerness  to  see  Marya  Jadwiga  again, 
this  unexpected  delay  was  like  a  dash  of  ice-water 
in  his  face. 

"She  went  out  with  an  old  gentleman.  I  don't 
know  how  long  she  '11  stay.  They  didn't  say." 

"What  old  gentleman?    Wenceslaus?"    A  covert 


WENCESLAUS  PASSES  245 

smile  touched  his  lip.  Wenceslaus  an  old  gentleman ! 
These  Americans! 

"No,  not  Wenceslaus.    Another  person." 

"Who?  What  is  his  name?  Where  did  they  go? 
I  have  said  I  must  see  Miss  Fabre  at  once." 

The  woman  did  some  rapid  thinking.  She  wished 
she  dared  lie,  shrug  her  shoulders,  say  the  girl  had 
gone  out  with  Wenceslaus.  But  this  was  not  a  man  to 
whom  one  might  lie  with  impunity.  The  first  glance 
at  his  face  told  her  that.  And  she  realized  that  she 
had  to  save  herself  from  any  ill  consequences.  She 
could  not  afford  to  have  this  troublesome  Marya  Jad- 
wiga,  whom  she  wished  she  had  never  seen,  appear  as 
a  victim.  Far  otherwise! 

"I  'm  afraid  you  '11  have  to  wait  some  time  to  see 
her, ' '  she  told  him  demurely,  lowering  her  eyes. 

The  blond  gentleman  made  an  inarticulate  sound. 
There  had  been  a  miscalculation.  The  house  had  been 
closely  watched  since  Marya  Jadwiga  had  become  an 
inmate  of  it,  but  to-night,  because  he  himself  in- 
tended to  see  her,  the  watch  had  been  removed.  He 
gnawed  his  lip  and  frowned.  Franciszka  shot  a 
shrewd  glance  at  him,  and  cautiously  tried  to  feel 
her  way. 

"If  you  are  interested  in  the  young  lady — " 
she  began,  slyly.  But  he  held  up  a  peremptory 
hand,  and  his  stern  expression  told  her  she  had 
erred. 

"I  am  here  to  see  Miss  Fabre,"  said  he,  coldly. 
"You  say  she  has  gone  out  with  'an  old  gentleman.' 
Very  well.  I  wish  to  know  who  this  old  gentleman 


246  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

is,  and  where  they  have  gone.  Let  me  repeat :  I  must 
see  Miss  Fabre  at  once;  my  business  cannot  wait. 
Tell  me  where  I  am  likely  to  find  her.  She  will 
understand." 

Franciszka  was  oddly  angered.  His  manner  of 
looking  at  her,  of  speaking  to  her,  affronted  her.  It 
showed  all  too  plainly  just  how  he  regarded  her — as 
though  this  were  not  New  York,  but  back  in  the  old 
country,  where  he  was  a  lord  and  she  a  peasant  girl 
who  curtesied  to  the  ground  when  a  noble  deigned  to 
speak  to  her.  The  involuntary  tone  of  respect,  of 
equality,  in  which  he  mentioned  Marya  Jadwiga  was 
not  lost  upon  her,  and  added  to  her  ill-will.  She  said 
mincingly : 

"Maybe  she  wouldn't  understand,  sir.  And 
maybe  she  and — her  gentleman  friend  wouldn't 
thank  you  for  interrupting — nor  me  for  letting  you 
do  it."  She  showed  her  handsome  white  fangs,  and 
added,  with  subtle  mockery,  "I  'm  sure  you  'd  better 
wait  until  to-morrow." 

The  man's  eyes  narrowed.  Sophisticated,  perhaps 
not  too  scrupulous  at  times,  he  knew  the  world's 
Franciszkas  over-well,  and  he  could  not  possibly  mis- 
take this  one.  He  experienced  a  feeling  of  panic  that 
Marya  Jadwiga  had  been  sent  to  this  woman,  and  that 
his  own  espionage  had  not  been  more  rigid.  Also, 
Fritz  had  reported  that  the  telephone  messages,  ask- 
ing for  Miss  Fabre,  had  been  held  up.  He  said 
shortly : 

"I  do  not  understand  you." 

And   then    Franciszka   erred    fatally.     Clever    as 


WENCESLAUS  PASSES  247 

she    was,    she   made    a   false    move;    she   laughed. 

"  Ach,  mein  Herr !  When  an  old  gentleman  is  very 
much  interested  in  a  pretty  young  girl,  and  wants  to 
take  her  out,  and  she  's  willing  to  go  with  him,  they 
won't  either  of  them  want  their  dinner  spoiled  by 
somebody  else  coming  along  and  talking  business, 
maybe."  Her  words  were  innocent  enough,  but  her 
eyes  were  not. 

Of  a  sudden  he  reached  out  an  iron  hand  and 
gripped  her.  She  found  herself  looking  into  the 
deadly  blue  eyes  of  Karl  Otto  Johann  von  Eitten- 
heim.  He  gave  her,  hissed  between  his  teeth,  so  evil 
a  name  that  even  her  ears  burned  with  the  sting  of  it. 

"Where  is  she?"  His  low  voice  increased  her 
fear.  ' '  If  any  harm  comes  to  the  Countess  Zuleska,  I 
will  have  you  making  prison  overalls  for  the  rest  of 
your  life,  prostitute !  Who  has  paid  you  to  betray 
her?  Tell  me  quickly,  before  I  strangle  you!"  He 
shook  her  savagely.  ' '  Do  you  understand,  beast,  that 
you  have  meddled  in  my  affairs?  Tell  me  where  I 
may  find  her ! ' ' 

Rage  choked  him,  and,  mingled  with  rage,  a  fear,  a 
terror,  a  jealousy  so  horrible  that  it  all  but  bereft  him 
of  reason.  He  had  to  exert  his  will  power  to  keep  from 
throttling  the  woman.  His  look  was  so  murderous 
that  she  turned  cold.  Oh !  that  devil  of  a  girl !  Why 
had  she  come  here,  when  everything  was  going  so 
smoothly  and  so  well  with  Franciszka,  and  brought 
trouble  with  her?  Who  was  this  demoniac  demand- 
ing her,  when  the  Man  Who  Paid —  But  then,  what 
was  he,  the  Man  Who  Paid,  to  Franciszka  when  she 


248  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

was  endangered?  Let  him  look  to  himself:  there 
were  other  men  who  paid,  but  you  had  only  one  life, 
and  if  you  lost  that — 

She  tried  to  push  the  blond  man  away,  but  his 
grip  upon  her  tightened,  viselike. 

"Why  did  you  send  her  out,  woman?  What  did 
she  think  she  went  for?"  he  grated. 

"W-work,"  stammered  Franciszka.  "He  prom- 
ised to  find  her  a  place — " 

He  saw  it  all,  then. 

"Where  shall  I  find  her?"  he  demanded  furiously. 

"How  do  I  know — where  she  is?"  The  woman 
was  shaking  with  rage  and  fear.  "What  have  I  got 
to  do  with  where  she  goes  and  who  she  goes  with? 
But  if  you  will  have  it  she  's  gone  with  an  old  man 
that  's  crazy  for  her — just  crazy  for  her ;  that  's  what 
he  is."  And  then  she  knew  she  had  him;  she  knew 
she  was  torturing  the  man  who  listened  to  that,  and, 
frightened  as  she  was,  a  glow  of  revengeful  triumph 
warmed  her.  This  one,  too,  was  mad  for  that  little 
cat-faced  trouble-bringer  ?  Well,  then,  let  him  go 
and  find  her — with  the  other  man. 

"•Where?"  whispered  Rittenheim.  His  face  went 
a  sickish  white  as  he  gathered  her  meaning,  but 
there  was  that  in  his  eyes  that  warned  her  to  tell 
the  truth.  For  a  moment  they  stood  eye  to  eye. 
Knowing  it  would  be  dangerous  to  evade  or  to  trick 
him,  though  sorely  tempted  to  do  so,  she  gave  him  the 
address.  He  asked  grimly :  ' '  That  is  correct  ? ' '  and 
when  she  nodded  a  sullen  yes,  he  thrust  her  roughly 
aside,  jerked  the  door  open,  and  rushed  down  the 


WENCESLAUS  PASSES  249 

steps.     She  heard  a  car  door  slam,  and  the  instant 
rush  of  a  powerful  motor. 

"Now,"  said  she  to  herself,  angrily,  " there  '11  be 
the  devil  to  pay,  I  suppose!  Neither  of  them  will 
give  in.  Well!  what  have  I  got  to  do  with  it?  Let 
them  fight  it  out,  the  pair  of  them !  But  I  hope, ' '  she 
added,  with  a  vicious  glance  at  the  door,  "I  hope  you 
get  there  too  late!" 

A  warm  bath  made  Franciszka  feel  much  better. 
She  massaged  her  face  into  its  usual  lineless  per- 
fection, and  brushed  her  long  hair  into  its  fine  glossi- 
ness. Her  looks  were  her  chief  stock  in  trade,  and 
she  could  not  afford  to  have  her  stock  subjected  to 
any  deteriorating  processes,  such  as  worry,  or  con- 
science, or  regret.  While  she  rubbed  and  smoothed 
and  patted  and  groomed  herself,  she  speculated  upon 
the  probable  fate  of  Mary  a  Jadwiga,  with  no  com- 
punction for  her  own  share  in  it.  Really,  she  was 
putting  the  little  fool  in  the  way  of  doing  very  well 
for  herself!  The  Man  Who  Paid,  she  reflected,  was 
not  one  to  let  an  opportunity  slip — nor  let  the  grass 
grow  under  his  feet.  Particularly  when  he  had  really 
set  his  desire  upon  anything.  He  could  not  bear  to 
be  thwarted.  He  saw  to  it  that  he  never  was  thwarted. 

The  woman  paused,  and  studied  herself  in  her 
mirror,  which  gave  her  back  a  darkly  glowing,  hand- 
some image,  clothed  in  a  costly  negligee  of  silk  and 
lace.  That  other  Franciszka  of  long  ago — the  girl 
who  wore  a  shawl  on  her  head,  and  worked  in  the 
fields,  and  cringed  before  a  peasant's  upraised  fists — 


250  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

was  a  far,  far  cry !  And  she  thought  of  the  day  she 
had  first  seen  little  Marya  Jadwiga,  who  was  a  count 's 
daughter,  and  whom,  despite  her  poverty,  one  had  to 
address  respectfully.  At  that  she  threw  back  her 
handsome,  glossy  head,  and  laughed.  She  thought 
of  old  Wenceslaus  and  his  ridiculous  pride,  and 
laughed  again.  She  had  had  just  about  enough  of 
Wenceslaus ! 

The  comfort  of  her  room  subdued  her  fears.  After 
all,  she  was  in  her  own  house,  in  safe,  police-guarded 
New  York.  What  could  a  German,  or  any  other 
foreigner,  do  to  her  here  ?  The  other  man  had  power- 
ful interests  at  his  back,  the  tremendous  influence  of  a 
great  fortune.  He  knew  how  to  spend  well  and  wisely 
when  he  found  it  necessary  to  do  so.  He  would  stand 
by  Franciszka,  not  because  she  was  dear  to  him,  but 
because  she  was  useful  to  him,  and  might  yet  be 
necessary. 

People  like  that  German,  she  reflected,  seldom  raised 
an  audible  row.  Aristocrats  prefer  to  keep  things 
like  this  quiet,  for  their  pride's  sake.  Franciszka 
concluded  she  might  safely  dismiss  any  possible  fear 
of  the  German.  He  would  simply  have  to  face  facts 
and  make  the  best  of  them,  like  everybody  else;  and 
serve  him  right !  She  lounged,  smoked  a  cigarette  or 
two,  glanced  carefully  over  several  smart  magazines 
which  showed  advanced  fashions  and  tattled  of 
moneyed  society,  studied  the  photographs  of  the 
ladies  of  this  moneyed  society,  decided  that  they  were 
no  better-looking  than  she;  and,  feeling  healthily 
tired,  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep. 


WENCESLAUS  PASSES  251 

She  slept  soundly,  like  the  healthy  animal  she  was, 
until  somebody  shook  her  roughly  by  the  shoulder. 
She  sat  up  in  bed,  surprisedly,  and  found  herself 
confronting  her  blond  visitor  of  a  few  hours  earlier 
— a  pale,  grim,  quiet  visitor,  who  instantly  placed  a 
capable  hand  over  her  mouth  to  prevent  a  possible 
outcry. 

"You  may  help  me  now,  Fritz,"  said  he,  coolly. 
Franciszka's  distending  eyes  perceived  another  man, 
brisk,  well  groomed,  immaculately  clothed.  She 
tried  to  bite  the  hand  over  her  mouth,  and  had  her 
jaw  wrenched  for  her  pains.  In  another  second  a 
handkerchief  gag  was  thrust  into  place  and  tied 
securely.  Then  her  hands  were  tied,  despite  her 
furious  struggles.  After  which  her  midnight  visitors 
seated  themselves:  the  young  gentleman  called  Fritz 
lighted  a  cigarette  and  smoked;  but  the  larger  man 
sat  and  looked  at  Franciszka  thoughtfully. 

"I  went  to  the  address  you  gave,"  said  he,  softly. 
"The  police  were  in  charge.  Your  old  friend  had 
brought  a  young  girl  home  with  him,  earlier  in  the 
evening.  He  had  dismissed  all  the  servants  for  the 
night,  except  one  man — a  valet  of  sorts,  I  believe. 
This  man  says  he  heard  the  young  lady  ask  repeat- 
edly when  the  old  lady  would  come  home.  Her  host 
replied  that  his  cousin  would  return  shortly.  The 
valet  knew  of  no  old  lady,  no  cousin  expected  that 
night,  or  any  other  night.  But  he  had  been  told  that 
a  young  lady  would  dine  there. 

"After  dinner  the  old  gentleman  and  his  young 
friend  went  into  the  drawing-room.  The  manservant 


252  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

had  leave  to  go  out,  after  dinner;  but  it  took  longer 
than  he  anticipated  to  clear  up,  so  he  remained  in 
the  house.  Presently  he  heard  the  front  door  open 
and,  stepping  to  the  hall  door,  saw  the  young  lady 
leaving  the  house,  alone.  A  few  minutes  later  he 
went  into  the  drawing-room  to  ask  for  possible  or- 
ders, and  discovered  his  employer  lying  on  the  floor, 
stabbed  in  the  breast.  Of  the  young  lady  there  was, 
of  course,  no  trace.  She  had  let  herself  out  and 
escaped.  She  has  not  yet  been  apprehended. 

"The  servant  summoned  doctors  and  the  police. 
He  could  give  no  accurate  description  of  the  young 
lady,  except  that  she  was  fair,  with  dark  hair. 
Does  n't  know  where  she  went  after  she  left  the  house. 
Does  n  't  know  anything  about  her.  Does  n  't  know 
very  much  about  his  employer,  for  that  matter,  being 
new  to  his  service.  But,"  he  finished,  in  the  same 
low,  quiet,  careful  voice,  "we  know  a  great  deal. 
You  may  tell  her,  Fritz." 

Fritz  told  her.  He  knew  very  much  about  the 
man,  and  very  much  about  Franciszka  herself,  and 
he  spoke  with  an  almost  biblical  bluntness.  Bit  by 
bit  they  pieced  the  ugly,  sordid  story  together ;  it  was 
as  though  they  had  seen  and  heard  her  and  that  old 
man  bargaining  for  the  girl  both  of  them  had  be- 
trayed and  entrapped.  Fritz  added  that  he  himself 
had  on  three  certain  dates  telephoned  the  house,  ask- 
ing for  Miss  Fabre,  but  always  Franciszka  Lanska 
herself  had  answered;  nor  had  Miss  Fabre  ever  been 
sent  to  the  telephone  to  receive  his  message.  He  had 
waited,  knowing  that  one  of  the  heads  was  being  sent 


WENCESLAUS  PASSES  253 

to  attend  to  the  case.  And  Franciszka  Lanska's  con- 
duct had  been  altogether  criminal. 

"I  know,  just  as  if  I  had  been  here,  what  you 
have  done  and  how  you  have  betrayed  her," 
Rittenheim  told  her.  "You  would  have  been  wiser 
to  befriend  her.  As  it  is,  you  have  committed  two 
unpardonable  crimes:  you  have  interfered  with  busi- 
ness of  state,  and  you  have  crossed  me."  His  eyes 
were  so  implacable  that  she  would  have  screamed  had 
she  been  able. 

He  sat  still  for  a  moment,  looking  at  her.  For  her 
own  base  reasons  she  had  dared  to  meddle,  and 
through  her  invaluable  secrets  had  been  placed  in 
jeopardy.  But  there  was  more  than  that  behind 
Rittenheim 's  anger.  Marya  Jadwiga's  innocent 
beauty,  her  veiled  eyes,  her  virginal  mouth  rose  be- 
fore him.  And  this  beast  of  a  woman,  in  whose  hands 
fate  had  placed  her,  had  helped  an  old  roue  of  the 
most  abominable  type,  the  most  notorious  reputation, 
to  trap  her !  She  had  sold  the  girl  who  was  Zuleski  's 
daughter  and  Rittenheim 's  love.  That  the  little 
countess  had  tried  to  kill  the  man  was  to  have  been 
expected"  and  commended.  But  she  had  been  put 
into  this  strait  through  the  Lanska  woman's  con- 
niving. And  because  of  it  she  had  disappeared,  been 
swallowed  up  in  the  vast  vortex  of  New  York.  Little 
Marya  Jadwiga  alone,  a  stranger,  lost,  in  the  New 
York  streets,  at  night!  God!  That  called  for 
vengeance ! 

' '  We  do  not  have  you  sent  to  prison  for  your  part 
in  this  affair  because  we  wish  to  protect  the  little 


254  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

countess,  and  we  do  not  wish  to  raise  an  outcry. 
You  had  counted  on  that — yes  ?  Nobody  would  raise 
an  outcry,  and  you  would  be  well  paid,  and  escape  ? ' ' 
Rittenheim  spoke  slowly.  "But  there  are  other 
methods  of  punishment,  perhaps  more  salutary  be- 
cause more  strictly  individual.  We  have  decided  to 
take  the  law  into  our  own  hands.  You  will  hardly 
care  to  appeal  to  the  police — afterward.  Your  record 
will  have  been  placed  before  them,  and  you  would 
not  fare  well  at  their  hands."  He  turned  to  the 
other  man:  "You  may  begin,  Fritz." 

Deftly,  with  one  strong  jerk,  Fritz  got  Franciszka 
out  of  bed  and  on  her  feet.  Her  bed  was  an  ornate 
brass  affair,  with  heavy  rods  at  head  and  foot.  One 
of  her  sheets,  torn  into  sizable  strips,  served  to  tie 
her  securely  to  the  bottom  posts.  Rittenheim  looked 
at  his  wrist-watch,  while  Fritz  adjusted  an  electric 
lamp  so  that  the  shaded  light  fell  upon  Franciszka, 
leaving  the  rest  of  the  room  in  shadow.  Then  Fritz 
drew  from  his  coat  pocket  a  thin,  strong  lash,  which 
bit  and  stung  like  fire,  and  while  the  woman  writhed 
and  struggled  like  a  lioness  caught  in  a  trap,  he 
laid  the  snaky  thong  across  her  back  and  shoulders. 
He  had  a  strong,  sure  hand,  and  he  used  it  with  hearty 
good-will,  Rittenheim  counting  between  the  strokes. 
Both  men  seemed  impassive,  automatic  instruments 
of  justice,  doing  an  inevitable  work. 

The  woman  jerked  as  though  a  galvanic  battery 
had  been  applied  to  her  body.  At  times  she  all  but 
wrenched  herself  free,  for  she  had  a  peasant 's  strength, 
and  fear  and  pain  and  fury  had  roused  her  to  frenzy. 


WENCESLAUS  PASSES  255 

The  heavy  brass  bed  shook  and  trembled,  and  was 
pulled  about  by  her  struggles.  Rittenheim  had  to 
put  out  a  foot  to  hold  it  steady.  But  he  did  not 
pause  in  his  slow  counting,  and  the  lashes  fell 
steadily,  mercilessly,  until  he  had  counted  fifty. 
Then,  "You  may  stop  now,  Fritz.  I  think  she  will 
have  learned  her  lesson,"  said  he,  coldly. 

Franciszka  had  ceased  to  struggle.  'She  hung  for- 
ward limply,  her  head  sagging  so  that  her  braided 
hair  swept  the  floor.  No  political  prisoner  in  the  best 
of  the  good  old  days,  no  recalcitrant  negro  on  a  chain- 
gang  in  Georgia  ever  received  a  sounder  whipping 
than  Franciszka  Lanska  received  that  night  in  her 
comfortable  home  in  a  staid,  respectable  New  York 
street,  with  a  policeman  stationed  half  a  block  away. 
Her  fine,  lace-trimmed  nightdress  was  in  ribbons,  and 
from  neck  to  heels  she  was  marked  with  livid  welts 
edged  with  red,  already  puffing  and  swelling.  An 
occasional  shivering,  quivering  movement  rippled 
over  her  as  an  extra  twitch  of  pain  stung  her.  She 
would  carry  the  marks  of  this  punishment  to  her 
grave.  Without  a  twinge  of  pity  the  two  men  re- 
garded her  limp  and  collapsed  figure.  She  had 
sinned  against  their  interests,  violated  their  code  by 
injuring  one  of  their  own  class,  betrayed  decency 
and  humanity  in  the  person  of  a  young  girl  whom  she 
had  tried  to  sell  to  stark  outrage  and  shame.  They 
meted  out  to  her  swift  and  condign  punishment,  such 
as  the  crimes  called  for.  That  was  all. 

The  man  called  "Fritz" — Marya  Jadwiga  would 
have  recognized  in  him  that  brisk  young  man  who  had 


256  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

tried  to  make  her  acquaintance  on  shipboard — untied 
Franciszka,  and  dumped  her  unceremoniously  in  her 
bed.  She  opened  her  eyes  and  stared  at  him  dully; 
but,  although  the  gag  had  been  removed,  she  did  not 
scream,  or  try  to  call  for  help.  She  was  beyond 
screaming,  beyond  hoping  for  help.  The  punishment 
she  had  received  had  pierced  to  the  marrow  of  what 
was  Franciska's  soul,  the  sort  of  soul  that  could  re- 
ceive its  lessons  only  thus  drastically.  Her  faculties 
focused  into  one  immense  fear — fear  of  the  men  who 
had  dared  do  this  thing  to  her.  They  had  dared  be- 
cause they  had  the  power.  If  they  wished,  they  might 
have  done  worse,  and  gone  unpunished. 

Lulled  by  success  and  ease,  she  had  felt  safe  to  do 
what  she  would;  she  had  been  careful,  and  who  was 
there  to  catch  up  with  her,  to  prove  it  on  her,  to  call 
for  reckoning  ?  But  of  a  sudden,  as  lightning  strikes, 
this  terrible  thing  had  come  upon  her,  in  her  own 
house,  and  she  had  been  powerless  to  save  herself. 
She  could  never  again  feel  safe!  An  inarticulate 
whimper  broke  from  her ;  she  cowered,  bit  her  already 
bitten  lips,  and  put  up  a  shaking  hand,  to  cover  her 
red  and  swollen  eyes.  She  was  afraid,  as  coarse 
natures  are  afraid  of,  and  respect,  those  stronger  and 
more  ruthless  than  themselves.  Eittenheim  had 
known  exactly  how  to  deal  with  Franciszka.  There 
is  no  criminal  who  does  not  fear  the  lash. 

"You  have  been  guilty  of  a  thing  that  merits  death, 
rather  than  a  few  stripes,"  said  the  low  voice  of  the 
German.  "You  deserve  no  mercy.  You  will  receive 
none,  if  you  lift  so  much  as  a  finger  against  the 


WENCESLAUS  PASSES  257 

Countess  Zuleski  again,  or  so  much  as  mention  her 
name!  Look  at  me!" 

She  opened  her  stinging  eyes,  and  his  plunged  into 
them  like  blue  steel  tipped  with  cold,  bright  fire. 
"Remember!"  said  he,  and  the  two  men  walked  out 
of  her  bedroom,  closing  the  door  gently  after  them. 
She  heard  their  careful  steps  going  down  her  stairs, 
and  her  door  open  and  close.  They  were  gone. 

Franciszka  lay  in  her  fine  bed,  one  burning,  fright- 
ful ache.  She  wished  to  call  for  help,  and  dared  not. 
Nobody  must  see  her  like  this,  nobody  must  ever 
know.  The  one  thing  more  terrible  than  her  punish- 
ment would  be  to  have  it  known.  She  was  glad  she 
had  told  Wenceslaus  to  go,  not  to  come  back.  She 
could  not  bear  the  idea  of  having  Wenceslaus 
know. 

Perhaps  she  could  help  herself.  She  tried,  and  fell 
back.  Eage,  pain,  terror  overcame  her,  in  paroxyms, 
and  her  senses  all  but  deserted  her.  Rittenheim's 
beautiful,  deadly  face;  the  brisk  movements  and 
merciless  eyes  of  the  man  Fritz;  Marya  Jadwiga 
driving  away  with  the  old  man ;  the  old  man  himself, 
stabbed  in  the  breast;  Marya  Jadwiga  wandering  in 
the  streets;  "Wenceslaus 's  last  look — all  these  whirled 
and  turned  around  and  around  in  a  mad,  feverish 
nightmare  from  which  she  could  not  awake,  until  one 
venomous  thought  crawled  upon  her  and  bit  her  like 
a  rattlesnake :  Marya  Jadwiga  had  escaped.  Marya 
Jadwiga  had  escaped.  And  she,  Franciszka,  had  been 
flogged  like  a  felon. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

OUT  OP  DARKNESS  THEY  SHALL  MEET 

JAN  DZYLINSKI  had  told  her  there  was  a  sub- 
way within  walking  distance,  and  that  she  was 
to  make  for  that.     She  was  to  turn  to  the  right 
at  the  second  corner.     He  tried,  hurriedly,  to  give  her 
careful  directions  as  to  which  train  she  was  to  take 
and  he  was  careful  as  to  the  street  address.     She  duti- 
fully repeated  his  directions.     She  was  to  take  a  sub- 
way train — to  her  an  utterly  unknown  experience. 

Once  in  the  street,  she  felt  dreadfully  tired.  She 
remembered,  dully,  what  she  was  leaving  behind  her 
— an  old  man  lying  on  the  floor,  near  a  sofa,  a  red 
stain  spreading  on  his  white  shirt-front.  An  old  man 
whom  she  did  not  know,  a  stranger  who  had  horribly 
usurped  the  place  of  a  kind  and  fatherly  friend.  An 
evil  old  man  from  whom  only  the  gipsy  woman's  little 
dagger  had  saved  her.  She  wondered  if  the  gipsy 
woman  had  foreseen  this.  Was  that  old  man  back 
there,  in  his  proper  person,  all  those  strangers  against 
whom  she  had  been  warned?  For,  when  one  looked 
back,  that  which  had  happened  to-night  had  about  it 
the  aspect  of  fatality;  as  though  one  had  been  all 
along  moving  straight  toward  it.  The  man's  gurgling 
outcry,  his  face  of  horrid  astonishment,  seemed  to 

258 


THEY  SHALL  MEET  259 

follow  her,  to  come  suddenly  behind  and  peer  over  her 
shoulder.  She  tried  to  hurry  away  from  it,  but  her 
feet  were  made  of  lead.  She  bore  the  weight  of  the 
universe  on  her  shoulders. 

At  the  second  corner,  mechanically  obeying  instruc- 
tions, she  turned  to  the  right. 

' '  If  the  subway  scares  you  like  it  does  most  foreign- 
ers at  first,  you  look  out  for  some  man  that  looks  like 
a  workingman.  If  you  can  find  a  Jew  workingman, 
ask  him.  Jew  workingmen  will  almost  always  help, 
and  they  're  pretty  safe.  Don't  ask  the  dressed-up 
Jews,  or  Christians,  either,"  Jan  warned  her. 
"They  're  not  always  safe  for  girls." 

She  reached  the  subway  station,  and  bought  her 
ticket.  For  a  moment  the  place  was  empty  of  coming 
or  going  trains,  and  there  were  not  many  people.  A 
newspaper  had  been  left  upon  a  bench,  and  as  she 
seated  herself  she  glanced  at  it,  casually.  The  word 
"Serajevo"  leaped  at  her  from  the  front  page.  An 
Austrian  archduke  and  his  wife  had  been  murdered  in 
Serajevo. 

A  chill  as  of  death  shook  her,  and  she  trembled. 
A  crash  as  of  thunder  seemed  to  be  roaring  about  her 
ears,  a  roaring,  bellowing  shout  of  "Serajevo!  Franz 
Ferdinand  and  his  wife  are  dead  in  Serajevo!"  .  .  . 

She  caught  her  lip  in  her  teeth  and  bit  it,  to  save 
herself  from  screaming.  A  train  roared  in  and 
roared  out.  Red  and  green  lights  winked  like  open- 
ing and  shutting  eyes.  People  rushed  off  and  on 
trains,  ran  up  and  down  steps,  read  newspapers, 
chewed  gum,  waited  with  patience  or  impatience  for 


260  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

the  arrival  of  their  particular  local  or  express.  She 
had  forgotten  which  train  she  was  to  take;  but  she 
remembered  the  street  address  Jan  had  given  her. 
A  voice  speaking  in  Yiddish  fell  on  her  ears,  and  turn- 
ing her  head  she  saw  two  Jewish  workers,  piece- 
work men,  probably,  for  they  carried  bundles  of  coats. 
They  had  the  intelligent,  mild  faces,  the  patient  eyes 
of  'Jewish  toilers,  and  this  enabled  her  to  speak  to 
them,  timidly.  Both  looked  at  her,  and  one  asked, 
kindly : 

"Russ?" 

"Pole." 

"Where  you  say  you  should  go?" 

She  named  the  street. 

"All  right,  we  go  by  that.  You  go  along,  and  we 
tell  you  where  it  is  at. ' '  They  told  her,  and  paid  no 
further  attention  to  her  for  the  time  being.  But 
when  their  train  came  in  they  beckoned  to  her,  and 
she  hurried  after  them.  She  had  never  been  in  the 
subway  before,  and  the  rush  and  roar  of  it  deafened 
her.  The  car  was  well  filled.  People  rushed  in  and 
out.  The  guards  seemed  to  her  as  savage  as  red 
Indians.  The  curious  odor  that  pervades  all  sub- 
ways clogged  her  nostrils.  She  fetched  a  great 
sigh  of  relief  when  one  of  the  Jewish  men  called  to 
her: 

"You  get  off  at  the  next  station,  Miss." 

She  got  off  at  the  next  station,  feeling  that  she  was 
parting  from  those  who,  although  they  paid  scant  at- 
tention to  her,  yet  were  capable  of  kindly  attentions. 
The  streets  in  which  she  found  herself  were  utterly 


THEY  SHALL  MEET  261 

strange,  and  she  lost  all  sense  of  direction  and  loca- 
tion. 

Began  a  horrible,  aimless,  blind  wandering.  Her 
faculty  of  orientation  had  gone  by  the  board.  At 
moments  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  losing  her  own 
identity.  People  looked  at  her  curiously  at  times; 
and  sometimes  a  man  spoke  to  her,  but,  without  in 
the  least  knowing  what  was  said,  she  shook  her 
head  and  hurried  on.  Once  or  twice  a  woman,  step- 
ping stealthily  to  her  side,  plucked  at  her  sleeve  and 
whispered  to  her.  But  a  large,  leisurely  policeman 
appearing,  the  stranger  instantly  dropped  back,  and 
Marya  Jadwiga  went  on  her  way  unheeding. 

If  only  Wenceslaus  had  been  with  her !  Oh,  to  find 
Wenceslaus !  But  Wenceslaus  was  waiting  for  her  at 
Franciszka's;  and  when  she  thought  of  Franciszka 
she  shuddered.  She  would  presently  have  to  devise 
some  way  of  communicating  with  the  old  man,  of 
getting  him  out  of  that  house.  But  at  present  one 
was  not  able  to  think,  to  plan.  All  one  could  do  was 
to  walk,  and  walk,  and  walk. 

She  turned  down  a  long,  slovenly  street.  Faces  of 
Italians  appeared  here,  black-haired  children  swarmed 
like  flies  on  the  sidewalks,  piping  with  shrill  voices. 
Women  gossiped,  their  arms  folded  on  their  bosoms, 
men  in  shirt  sleeves  leaned  in  doorways.  In  some 
upper  tenement  room  a  mandolin  swept  by  a  bold 
hand  gave  forth  "La  Paloma."  Until  she  dies, 
Marya  Jadwiga  will  never  forget  ' '  La  Paloma. ' '  On 
a  corner  a  dingy  box  did  duty  for  a  sidewalk  news- 
stand. The  papers,  in  Italian,  shouted  "Serajevo." 


262  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

The  girl  saw  the  word  leap  at  her  as  though  from 
ambush,  and  hurried  on,  whipping  her  dragging 
energy  into  fresh  effort. 

She  came  into  an  avenue  presently.  There  were 
many  lights,  and  shop  windows — an  endless  vista  of 
lights  and  shop  windows.  Again  a  man  spoke  to  her, 
and  again,  without  really  looking  at  him  or  seeing  him, 
she  shook  her  head  and  walked  on.  But  this  time 
the  man,  who  glimpsed  the  pale  face,  and  saw  that 
something  was  wrong  here,  from  which  he  might  later 
reap  harvest,  turned  and  followed  her.  If  she  had 
really  seen  him,  she  might  have  known  him  for  what 
he  was — a  bird  of  prey,  a  terror  of  the  night.  But 
she  was  unaware  of  him  skulking  in  her  wake.  When 
she  came  to  side  streets  she  looked  about  her  un- 
certainly. She  tried,  without  avail,  to  recall  the  direc- 
tions Jan  had  given  her — and  could  not.  Her  mind 
seemed  a  blank.  The  avenue  being  better  lighted,  she 
followed  that  intuitively.  She  thought,  dazedly,  that 
she  would  walk,  and  walk,  until  daylight.  Then  she 
would  sit  somewhere  and  rest.  And  then  she  would 
be  able  to  think  what  was  to  be  done.  But  not 
now. 

The  skulking  shadow  behind  her  presently  drew 
nearer,  and  put  a  stealthy,  tentative  hand  on  her  arm. 
She  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  turned  to  face  him. 
He  saw  her  face  in  full,  then,  and  sucked  in  his  lips, 
greedily.  Gaw,  what  a  peach !  Tired  out,  'n  all,  but 
what  a  peach!  In  trouble  about  somep'n,  an'  alone. 
She  stood  looking  at  him  gravely,  waiting  for  him  to 


THEY  SHALL  MEET  263 

speak.  He  was  fairly  well  dressed,  and  of  a  sharp- 
faced,  sinister  sort  of  good  looks. 

"I  seen  you  was  alone,  an'  looked  kinda  troubled, 
and  you  look  somep'n  like  my  own  little  sister,  Miss, 
BO  I  thought  I  'd  just  step  up  an'  ast  you  if  I  c'd  do 
annythin'  for  you."  He  spoke  glibly. 

"Thank  you,  but  you  can  do  nothing  for  me,"  she 
told  him  in  her  throaty  voice.  Even  he  was 
aware  of  the  unusualness,  the  charm  of  that  voice. 
Say!  gee!  She  was  some  little  swell,  maybe,  in 
trouble  with  her  folks,  like  as  not.  He  knew  those 
who  would  pay  for  a  find  like  this.  Nothin'  but  a 
kid,  but  such  a  looker!  He  was  standin'  in  with  ol' 
Lady  Luck  to-night ! 

For  a  few  minutes  he  made  no  further  attempt  to 
speak  to  her,  contenting  himself  with  dogging  her  at 
a  respectful  distance.  He  was  an  expert  in  his  line. 
Desperate  girls,  homeless  girls,  girls  in  trouble,  were 
all  fish  to  his  net.  He  usually  knew  how  to  land  them. 
He  studied  this  one  carefully.  Tired,  by  the  droop  of 
the  shoulders.  Probably  new  to  New  York.  Stranger 
to  this  part  of  town,  anyhow.  Didn't  know  where 
she  was  going ;  did  n  't  know  what  'd  happen  when 
she  got  there.  Well,  let  's  have  another  try  at 
her! 

"Say,  Miss,  you  sure  look  wore  out.  Come  on 
inta  some  place  an'  have  a  cup  coffee,"  he  coaxed. 
"You  sure  look  like  you  need  it." 

She  looked  at  him  with  surprised  displeasure,  and 
said  coldly.  "No,  I  thank  you."  But  he  did  not 
give  way.  He  kept  step  with  her  persistently. 


264  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"You  'd  oughta  let  a  gent 'man  help  you  out  when 
you  need  it,  lady, ' '  he  reproached,  with  a  show  of  in- 
dignation. "I  got  a  heart,  I  have.  I  seen  you  was 
up  against  it,  the  minute  I  lamped  you.  I  says,  'I 
wonder  where  that  kid  thinks  she  's  goin.'  I  betcha 
it  ain't  home,  sweet  home!'  ' 

Marya  Jadwiga's  displeasure  grew.  It  occurred  to 
her  that  she  did  not  approve  of  sharp-featured  persons 
with  oily  curls,  and  a  manner  at  once  fawning  and 
cringing  and  familiar.  She  turned  from  him 
resolutely;  tried  to  increase  her  gait,  and  could 
not.  Her  self-invited  escort  hung  to  her  side  like  a 
burr. 

"You  won't  lemme  give  you  nothin'?"  And  as 
she  did  not  answer:  "Think  it  over.  If  a  bull  was 
to  come  along  now,  an'  lamp  you  strollin'  along  with- 
out nowheres  to  go  an'  nobody  to  go  there  with  you, 
an'  I  was  to  wink  at  him,  he  'd  pinch  you.  Sure  he 
would!  You  got  no  right  to  be  out  this  hour  by 
yourself.  Look  here,  you  just  lemme  take  you  along 
home  to  me  mother." 

Marya  Jadwiga  still  refusing  to  reply,  of  a  sudden 
he  changed  his  tactics.  He  came  closer,  laid  his  hand 
upon  her  possessively,  and  said  in  a  hard  voice  of 
command : 

"I  got  no  more  time  to  fool.  I  know  all  about 
you,  I  do.  Your  ma  's  walkin'  the  floor  right  now, 
worryin'  about  you.  You  come  along  home  to  her. 
She  says  to  me,  '  I  know  you  got  a  big  heart,  Joe, '  she 
says.  'I  know  you  're  a  gent 'man,  which  I  kin  al- 


THEY  SHALL  MEET  265 

ways  trust, '  she  says.  '  Joe,  go  find  my  chile ! '  Now, 
you  come  on  home  to  your  ma,  Sadie." 

"My  name  is  not  Sadie.  You  are  entirely  mistaken. 
I  have  no  mother.  And  I  have  never  seen  you  be- 
fore." 

"Aw,  can  it!"  said  he.  "Sure  you  know  me! 
Don't  gimme  none  o'  that  sort  o'  rough  stuff,  Sadie, 
or  I  '11  hafta  forget  I  'm  a  gent 'man.' 

"I  think  you  had  better  go  away,"  said  Marya 
Jadwiga,  regarding  him  steadily. 

"Not  before  I  take  yuh  back  to  th'  ol'  lady,  I 
won't,"  said  he,  doggedly.  "Will  you  come  peace- 
'ble,  or  do  I  hafta  make  you?" 

"I  have  no  idea  of  going  with  you.  And  I  do 
not  think  you  would  better  try  force."  And  she 
wondered,  "Is  one  compelled  to  commit  murder  in 
this  country?" 

A  taxi  approaching,  he  shot  a  keen  glance  at  the 
driver,  jerked  the  girl  to  the  curb  and,  holding  up  a 
finger,  called  shrilly,  ' '  Taxi ! ' ' 

"I  got  a  little  stepsister  here,  which  our  ma  she  's 
waitin'  home  for,  and  the  jane  says  she  won't  go  back. 
Now,  I  can't  leave  her  walk  the  streets  this  hour,  can 
I  ?  I  gotta  get  her  back  to  ma,  ain  't  I  ?  Two  bucks 
to  git  us  home,  bo." 

The  taxi  driver  opened  the  door  of  his  cab. 

"Git  in,  Sadie.  An'  don't  raise  no  row  about  it, 
neither.  Ma  ain't  goin'  to  make  trouble,  and  there  '11 
be  no  questions  asked.  All  you  gotta  do  is  come  on 
home  like  a  lady." 


266  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

' '  No, ' '  said  the  girl.  She  looked  at  the  stolid  chauf- 
feur. "I  have  never  seen  this  person  before.  I  am 
not  his  sister.  He  lies,"  she  said. 

"Fight  it  out.  I  ain't  no  kin  to  neither  of  youse," 
said  the  taxi  man,  and  left  the  door  of  his  car  open. 

Marya  ffadwiga  felt  herself  being  dexterously 
pushed  toward  the  waiting  car.  She  wrenched  her- 
self free  from  her  companion,  and  backed  off. 

"Do  not  make  me  kill  you,  too!"  said  she,  fiercely. 

The  two  men  stood  still,  regarding  her  with  gaping 
mouths  and  startled  eyes. 

"Go  away!"  she  warned  them.  "Do  not  tempt 
God!  Because  if  you  touch  me,  I  shall  have  to  kill 
you."  And  not  as  though  she  feared  them,  but  as 
though  she  spared  them,  she  hurried  away. 

The  two  looked  at  each  other. 

"Now,  what  th'  hell!"  spat  the  taxi  man. 

"She  ain't  goin'  to  gimme  the  slip  that  way!" 
snarled  the  other,  recovering  his  nerve.  At  the  corner 
he  overtook  her. 

"Say  now,  Sadie,  you  come  on  quiet." 

"You  bring  your  death  upon  you!"  Marya  Jad- 
wiga  turned  at  bay. 

But  he  did  not  see  death.  He  saw  youth,  always 
his  prey.  Still,  he  hesitated  to  close  in  upon  her. 
And  she  retreated  as  he  advanced.  The  taxi  driver, 
who  had  been  following  slowly,  yawned. 

' '  Say,  you !  I  can 't  wait  on  you  and  the  skirt  all 
night.  Call  another  taxi  in  a  coupla  hours. ' '  Delib- 
erately he  climbed  into  his  car  and  drove  off. 

Marya  Jadwiga  turned  resolutely  away.     She  be- 


THEY  SHALL  MEET  267 

gan  to  pray,  sending  out  a  voiceless,  imploring  call. 
Leaving  the  avenue,  she  turned  down  a  side  street. 

"0  God,  help!  Tell  me  what  to  do!"  she  cried. 
Quickening  her  steps,  tired  as  she  was,  she  turned 
into  another  avenue  presently,  and  this  time  went 
south  instead  of  north.  The  shade  kept  close  at  her 
heels,  threatening,  coaxing,  in  a  low  voice.  He  did 
not  attempt  again  to  clutch  her.  He  seemed  to  know 
that  he  must  hound  her,  wear  her  out,  run  her  down ; 
that  she  had  no  place  to  go,  no  one  to  whom  to  turn, 
was  lost.  She  would  come  to  the  end  of  her  string, 
presently,  and  then — 

It  has  been  said  that  prayer  can  find  its  way  more 
quickly  than  we  can.  Marya  Jadwiga,  foster  child 
of  Wenceslaus,  had  not  the  sophisticated  spirit.  To 
both  these  simple  souls,  to  pray  was  as  natural  as  to 
breathe.  When  they  needed  help,  consolation, 
guidance,  they  asked  for  it,  naively,  as  a  child  asks 
its  father.  She  called  for  that  help  now:  "Show 
me  what  to  do,  whom  to  turn  to!  Show  me  where 
to  go!" 

Once  again  she  turned,  still  going  south.  The 
streets  were  more  deserted,  as  the  hour  grew  later. 
The  bird  of  prey  felt  more  and  more  satisfied.  He 
could  afford  to  wait  just  a  little  longer. 

A  tall  young  man  in  a  blue  uniform  swung  around 
a  corner.  He  had  just  been  released  from  special 
duty.  Another  tall  young  man,  immaculately 
dressed,  accompanied  him.  The  uniformed  man's 
quick,  trained  glance  took  in  the  young  girl's  tired, 
hunted  figure,  and  the  hovering  night-bird  furtive  in 


268  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

her  wake.  His  shoulders  straightened ;  his  head  went 
up.  He  hastened  his  stride.  Under  the  electric 
lights  one  saw  his  quiet,  alert  face. 

She  looked  up,  and  her  heart  stood  still  for  a  second, 
and  then  gave  a  great  throb.  He  looked  down,  and 
his  heart  gave  an  answering  leap,  as  he  recognized 
her.  Instinctively  he  put  out  a  detaining  hand.  At 
the  same  instant  the  night-bird  turned  and  fled.  A 
moment  and  he  had  been  there,  hawklike,  ready  to 
pounce.  Then  he  was  gone,  vanishing  into  the  night 
whence  he  came.  He  cursed  as  he  ran. 

The  two  thus  met  face  to  face  stood  still,  regarding 
each  other.  They  made  no  attempt  to  evade  recogni- 
tion. He  said,  as  if  to  himself,  breathlessly: 

"You!" 

But  she  had  no  word  at  all.  She  stood  and  looked 
up  at  him,  dumbly,  and  felt  in  her  heart  that  that  call 
had  been  heard  and  answered.  She  was  safe.  At 
sight  of  him  her  terror  had  fled,  as  the  bird  of  prey 
had  fled.  His  face  under  his  blue  cap  was  as  dearly 
intimate  as  Wenceslaus 's,  as  her  father's.  It  slipped 
into  her  heart  and  fitted,  as  a  picture  fits  a  frame 
made  for  it.  Something  divine,  like  nothing  she  had 
ever  known,  as  it  were  from  the  dayspring  on  high, 
flowed  into  her  consciousness,  flooded  her  spirit,  filled 
her  to  the  uttermost  margins  of  being.  As  a  flower 
opens  at  touch  of  the  sun,  her  life  flowered  into  love 
at  sight. 

He  knew  it  too — this  enchantment  of  the  heart. 
He  did  not  know  so  much  as  her  name,  who  she  was, 
whither  she  had  come.  He  saw  her  alone,  haunted 


THEY  SHALL  MEET  269 

by  the  bat's  wing  of  evil,  and  by  the  look  of  her  in 
desperate  straits.  But  she  was  his  girl  for  all  that — 
his  girl,  above  all  the  world,  more  dear  and  desirable 
than  any  other,  and  to  be  loved  forever.  He  knew 
with  a  certainty  above  all  doubting  that  this  was  so, 
that  he  loved  her  once  and  for  all — white  cheek, 
shadowed  eyes,  black  hair. 

He  had,  boyishly,  liked  this  girl  and  that,  flirted 
with  one  woman,  evaded  another.  Once  or  twice,  by 
the  skin  of  his  teeth,  his  inherited  wit,  and  his  innate 
decency,  he  had  saved  himself  from  serious  affairs  that 
might  have  meant  disaster.  He  had  had  every  op- 
portunity to  love  and  be  loved.  And  love  had  ignored 
him  until  he  saw  it  in  this  little  foreign  girl's  face. 
Now,  like  an  eagle,  it  swooped  upon  him. 

And  she  needed  his  help.  Life  had  sent  her  to 
him  in  an  hour  of  need.  He  asked  gently,  as  to  a 
frightened  child: 

"Can  I  be  of  any  service  to  you?" 

The  very  sound  of  his  quiet  voice  steadied  her 
nerves.  As  though  an  angel  had  spoken,  she  looked 
up  at  him  with  a  piercing  relief  and  gratefulness. 

' '  Yes,  oh,  yes,  if  you  will.  If  only  you  will ! ' '  she 
breathed.  "I — I  have  no  place  to  go.  I  am  a 
stranger  in  this  country — and  I  am  in  great  trouble. 
If  you  will  only  show  me  where  I  may  find  some  safe 
place  to-night!" 

The  piteousness  of  her  squeezed  his  heart  that 
loved  her. 

"If  you  will  trust  me,  I  can  easily  do  what  you 
require:  I  can  put  you  in  safe  and  kind  hands," 


270  TWO  SHALU  BE  BORN 

he  told  her  soothingly.  He  turned  to  Mr.  James 
Darlington,  a  silent  spectator. 

"I  vote  for  Mother  Callaghan,  Kell,"  said  Jimmy, 
promptly,  answering  the  unspoken  question.  ' '  Let  's 
take  her  right  on  to  Mother  Callaghan." 

All  sorts  of  things  had  been  happening  to  Mr. 
James  Darlington  since  Kell  went  on  the  force, 
and  took  up  his  quarters  at  Mother  Callaghan 's. 
For  one  thing,  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Colette 
O 'Shane,  and  the  present  aim  and  object  of  his  life 
was  to  persuade  her  to  take  him  seriously  enough 
to  marry  him.  His  world  had  shifted  its  poles,  and 
he  had  shifted  with  it,  being  an  adaptable  young 
man.  Yet  every  now  and  then  he  found  himself 
standing  amazed  and  all  but  speechless  before  some 
astonishing  angle  of  behavior,  some  new  madness  of 
the  people  who  inhabited  this  changed  sphere. 
Things,  for  instance,  like  walking  up  to  a  perfectly 
strange  girl  on  the  street  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
and  with  a  mixture  of  Don  Quixote  and  Sir  Gala- 
had proposing  to  take  her  to  Mother  Callaghan 's 
to  be  looked  after.  And  he,  he  had  been  the  proposer ! 

Brian  called  a  taxi,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they 
were  in  Charlton  Street,  and  he  had  ushered  the  girl 
into  the  cool,  dim  hall.  He  placed  a  chair  for  her, 
and  she  sank  into  it,  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap. 
She  asked  no  questions;  merely  trusted  herself  to 
him  absolutely. 

He  felt  this  trust;  he  knew  that  her  being  here 
was  the  most  exquisite  of  miracles.  He  could  have 
knelt  before  her,  bowed  his  black  head,  and  said  to 


THEY  SHALL  MEET  271 

her:  " Trust  me!  Always  trust  me.  Do  you  not 
know  that  all  I  am,  all  I  ever  can  be,  belongs  to  you  ? 
You  are  here  because  I  am  yours!" 

"Is  it  Mr.  Jimmy  Darlington  you  're  bringing 
home  this  hour  of  the  night?  Will  he  be  staying?" 
Mrs.  Callaghan  spoke  from  the  head  of  the  stairs. 
"What  is  it  you  11  be  wanting  now,  the  pair  of 
you?" 

"We  want  you,  Mother  Callaghan,"  Jimmy  told 
her.  "We  've  brought  a  little  friend  of  ours  we 
want  you  to  take  care  of  to-night. ' '  At  that  she  saw 
the  little  figure  in  the  chair. 

"Wait  a  bit,  and  I  '11  be  down."  She  came  down 
a  few  minutes  later — roly-poly,  apple-faced,  common- 
place, kind.  Colette  was  with  her.  Both  of  them 
looked  somewhat  astonished.  Marya  Jadwiga  got 
to  her  feet,  and  bowed;  and  the  unexpected  grace 
and  dignity  of  her  took  them  both  unawares.  The 
eyes  of  the  old  mother  swept  over  her  searchingly, 
and  saw  her  for  what  she  was,  a  homeless,  weary, 
spent  little  girl  in  a  foreign  land,  and  among 
strangers.  Colette  saw  it,  too,  and  her  heart  melted 
with  pity. 

"Why,  you  poor  little  thing!"  she  cried,  and  ran 
to  her. 

"Perishin'  with  the  mortal  weariness,  and  two 
great  gommachin'  men — though  you  're  kind  boys, 
God  bless  you! — not  so  much  as  gettin'  the  child  a 
glass  of  water!"  said  Mrs.  Callaghan,  full  of  concern. 
"Come  with  me,  child,  and  Colette  and  me  11  put 
you  to  bed.  You  can  tell  what  you  have  to  tell  in 


272  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

the  mornin'."  And  the  motherly  creature  held  out 
her  hands  to  her  forlorn  guest.  Marya  Jadwiga 
looked  at  her — so  kind,  so  motherly,  so  safe — and 
gave  a  cry. 

"I  must  tell  you,  I  must!"  cried  the  girl,  her 
voice  shaking.  ''You  are  so  good,  so  kind,  that  you 
must  know  all  the  truth  about  me,  why  I  am  here  to- 
night. Madame,  I  am  new  to  this  country,  and  I — 
did  not  understand  many  things.  And  when  Fran- 
ciszka  let  me  go  to-night  with  that  old  man,  I  was 
glad;  I  thanked  God;  I  went  oh,  so  hopefully!  He 
would  introduce  me  to  his  cousin,  an  old  lady,  who 
might  maybe  employ  me  as  her  companion,  he  said. 
And  he — and  he — "  Over  her  pale  face  poured  a 
sudden  flood  of  shamed  red.  With  a  pitifully  child- 
ish gesture  she  hid  her  face,  and  shook,  and  trem- 
bled. 

'The  curse  of  God  and  the  saints  on  him  and  the 
likes  of  him!"  cried  the  widow,  understanding. 
"And  she  a  young  little  slip  of  a  girl,  and  a  stranger 
at  that!  0  Mary,  Mary  Mother!"  Her  arms  went 
about  the  girl  with  a  fierce  protectiveness.  But 
Brian  Kelly's  strong  hands  clenched,  and  his  face 
went  straight-lipped  and  steely-eyed.  He  felt  mur- 
derous, and  at  the  same  time  sick.  His  girl!  His 
girl! 

"How  did  you  escape?"  he  asked  harshly.  Per- 
spiration stood  on  his  forehead.  Since  he  became  a 
policeman  he  had  met  girls  who  had  not  escaped. 

"When  I  was  leaving  my  own  country,  a  gipsy 
woman  gave  me  an  old  stiletto.  She  made  me  prom- 


THEY  SHALL  MEET  273 

ise  to  keep  it  with  me;  and  she  said  when  the  time 
came  I  must  use  it.  And  I — and  I — I  tried  to  fight 
him  off — and  then — I  used  it."  Her  voice  broke. 

A  grim  silence  fell  upon  the  fine  old  hall  in  Charl- 
ton  Street.  This  pretty,  slender,  childish  creature! 
It  outraged  one's  conscience  that  so  sordid  an  abomi- 
nation should  have  come  near  her.  Mrs.  Callaghan's 
arms  drew  her  closer,  as  though  to  protect  her  from 
the  very  thought  of  the  horror  that  had  threatened 
her. 

"The  manservant  told  me  it  was  a  trap.  He 
opened  the  door,  and  told  me  to  go  away  quickly, 
before  the  doctors  and  police  came.  I  went  on  the 
subway,  as  he  told  me  to.  I  was  to  go  to  some  people 
he  knew,  but  when  I  got  off  the  cars  I  could  not  re- 
member anything.  I  did  not  know  which  way  to 
turn.  And  I  could  not  go  back  to  Franciszka's  house, 
because  Franciszka  had  sent  me  out  with  him.  She 
— she  knew.  And  a  strange  man  followed  me,  and 
said  I  was  his  sister,  and  must  come  home  to  his 
mother,  and — " 

"And  by  the  grace  of  God  we  happened  along," 
put  in  Brian  Kelly,  tersely. 

"And  saw  a  young  lady  in  distress,  and  thought 
we  'd  better  bring  her  right  along  to  you,  Mother. 
We  knew  if  anybody  would  help  or  could  help,  it 
would  be  you,"  finished  Jimmy. 

"You  did  right.     I  'd  never  forgive  you  else." 

But  Marya  Jadwiga  turned  to  Brian,  her  brow 
puckering  with  fresh  distress. 

"  I  am  forgetting  Wenceslaus ! "  she  cried  contritely. 


274  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

' '  God  forgive  me !  I  am  forgetting  Wenceslaus ! 
He  is  at  Franciszka  's — he  is  an  old  man — and  he  will 
be  altogether  terrified  when  I  do  not  return  to-night ! 
Ah,  Monsieur!  help  me  to  get  word  to  Wesceslaus! 
He  must  know  I  am  safe." 

"That  is  the  old  chap  I  saw  with  you  that  night 
in  Madison  Square?"  said  Brian.  "I  will  manage 
to  let  him  hear  from  you  the  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing. That  will  be  best." 

"Now  you  two  be  off  to  your  beds — God  bless  you 
for  kind,  understanding  creatures!"  ordered  the 
widow.  "I  '11  be  getting  this  child  to  bed.  You 
can  talk  to  her  to-morrow." 

Marya  Jadwiga  tried  to  thank  them.  But  the 
words  died  on  her  lips.  The  hall,  the  lights,  the 
faces,  all  bobbed  up  and  down,  absurdly.  Voices 
were  a  thin,  buzzing  sound  in  her  ears,  a  long  way  off, 
receding  into  vast  distances.  Everything  wavered 
and  went  out.  The  gallant  little  soul  made  a  last 
effort  to  stand  erect,  but  her  knees  buckled  under 
her,  and  Brian  Kelly  caught  her  in  his  arms  as  she 
fell. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A   MAN   AND  A    MAID 

KARL  Otto  Johann  von  Rittenheim,  in 
America  at  a  critical  and  trying  moment 
on  a  critical  and  trying  mission,  frowned 
over  the  report  just  handed  him.  Wenceslaus  had 
left  Franciszka's  house,  and  it  had  taken  a  corps  of 
trained  workers  several  hours  to  pick  up  his  trail 
and  identify  the  fatally  injured  old  man  in  the  hos- 
pital— an  unconscious  old  man  from  whom  nothing 
could  be  gleaned — with  the  Wenceslaus  so  anxiously 
sought.  The  names  of  the  two  men  in  the  car  which 
had  run  him  down,  secured  from  the  police  blotter, 
gave  the  baron  further  cause  for  concern.  Fate 
would  not  play  so  opportunely  into  the  hands  of 
Czadowska's  agents — he  had  at  once  identified  these 
two  with  Czadowzka's  activities — unless  the  beldame's 
elbow  had  been  sharply  jogged. 

There  was  as  yet  no  trace  of  Marya  Jadwiga.  For 
the  time  being  she  had  vanished,  and  Rittenheim 
was  consumed  with  an  anxiety  not  altogether  polit- 
ical. He  wanted  the  papers  she  carried,  plans  which 
Zuleski  had  insisted  must  be  sent  out  of  the  country 
in  order  that  the  person  carrying  them  might  be 
reasonably  safe  from  seizure  and  imprisonment.  The 

275 


276  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

count's  sudden  death  on  the  eve  of  his  arrest  by 
Czadowska,  proved  that  he  had  been  in  a  measure 
correct.  Rittenheim  had  heard,  too,  faint  whis- 
pers of  the  loss  of  certain  other  plans,  a  colossal 
theft,  which  the  Russian  Secret  Service  was  madly 
trying;  to  recover.  There  had  been  something  in 
Zuleski  's  icy  smile,  something  in  the  haste  and  risk  of 
the  whole  affair  which  made  the  German  wonder  if 
those  lost  Russian  plans  had  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  fh'ght  of  Zuleski  's  daughter  and  his  servant.  And 
now,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  Wenceslaus  had  been 
fatally  injured;  and  Marya  Jadwiga  had  disap- 
peared. 

The  baron  had  but  one  grain  of  satisfaction,  and 
that  was  when  he  reflected  upon  Franciszka's  flogged 
back.  He  had  not  been  able  to  hang  the  woman  out 
of  hand,  but  considering  handicaps  he  had  done  rather 
well. 

In  the  meantime,  where  was  the  little  countess? 
So  far  as  he  could  ascertain,  she  had  neither  friends 
nor  acquaintances  in  New  York.  Into  whose  hands, 
then,  had  she  fallen  ?  Whither  had  she  fled  ?  There 
was  but  one  course  open  to  him — to  set  a  close  watch 
upon  the  hospital,  and  subject  every  inquirer  after 
Wenceslaus,  any  one  who  showed  an  undue  interest 
in  him,  to  a  very  close  and  careful  scrutiny.  He 
understood  Marya  Jadwiga 's  affection  for  her  foster 
father.  If  she  learned  what  had  befallen  him,  she 
would  make  every  effort  to  reach  him. 

It  did  not  escape  his  attention  that  no  hue  and  cry 
had  been  raised  for  her  apprehension.  The  news- 


A  MAN  AND  A  MAID  277 

papers  carried  no  account  of  what  had  happened 
in  that  house.  It  had  been  miraculously  hushed  up. 
The  injured  man,  recovering  consciousness  an  hour 
or  two  later,  insisted  that  the  affair  had  been  wholly 
accidental.  The  young  lady?  What  young  lady? 
Why,  there  had  been  a  young  lady  there,  for  a  short 
while,  but  she  had  left  the  house  before  this  accident 
occurred.  Damn  them  all!  couldn't  they  under- 
stand ?  She  'd  had  no  hand  in  it  at  all !  No,  he  'd 
see  them  all  in  blue  blazes  before  he  gave  any  name 
or  address !  It  was  none  of  their  business ;  nobody 's 
business  but  his!  Get  out! 

The  man  had  not  been  injured  so  dangerously  as 
had  been  thought  at  first.  He  would  recover.  But 
he  knew  he  had  staked — and  lost.  He  was  be- 
wildered, as  well  as  humiliated.  His  first  conscious 
act  had  been  to  exert  all  the  power  and  influence  his 
wealth  and  connections  gave  him,  to  hush  the  matter ; 
there  would  be  no  scandal.  If  he  set  noted  detec- 
tives in  search  of  her,  it  was  not  to  drag  her  to  jus- 
tice. That  was  what  bewildered  him:  why  was  he 
acting  thus?  Why?  He  had  come  near  losing  his 
life  at  her  hands;  and,  lying  here,  he  was  discovering 
that  that  life  was  all  but  valueless  without  her;  she 
was  dearer  to  him,  more  desirable  now,  than  she  had 
ever  been.  It  was  not  in  his  power  to  hate  her. 
More  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  he  could  care  for 
anybody,  he  cared  for  her.  He  loved  her.  He  loved 
her  who  had  tried  to  kill  him.  This  was  the  ironical 
punishment  life  was  dealing  out  to  him. 

He  had  always  been  a  light  lover,  a  man  who  cared 


278  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

for  many  women,  as  a  spoiled  and  selfish  child  cares 
for  playthings  while  their  new  prettiness  lasts,  and 
while  they  do  not  bore  him.  But  always  he  had 
been  able  to  get  rid  of  them,  to  toss  them  aside  with- 
out regret,  certainly  without  compunction.  He  had 
desired  many,  but  none  had  really  mattered  deeply. 
There  is  such  an  inexhaustible  supply  of  girls,  always 
young,  always  fresh,  always  lovely,  to  amuse  oneself 
with.  He  had  acted  upon  the  comfortable  assump- 
tion that  each  had  her  price.  He  always  paid  it, 
and  that  made  them  quits.  He  had  thought  thus 
about  this  girl,  too;  had  fancied  she  would  make 
a  difficulty,  of  course,  at  first.  But  she  was  not  a 
fool,  and  she  would  come  to  terms.  They  always 
came  to  terms.  And,  to  his  consternation,  she  was 
not  buyable  at  all.  His  philosophy  of  life,  of  money, 
of  women  had  tricked  him,  in  the  end.  She  was  not 
buyable  at  all ;  and  he  loved  her. 

He  wished,  desperately,  that  he  could  force  her  to 
come  to  him.  He  wanted  her  to  look  at  him,  to  speak 
to  him;  he  had  never  seen  any  other  eyes,  heard  an- 
other voice,  like  hers.  He  ached  to  tell  her  he  would 
not  have  her  punished.  Nothing  was  farther  from 
his  thoughts!  He  would  marry  her — if  she  wished. 
He  would  atone;  he  would  not  leave  a  wish  of  hers 
ungratified. 

Why  had  he  not  understood?  Why  had  he  not 
made  her  marry  him?  He  had  been  clever  in  other 
matters.  He  could  have  managed  this.  When  she 
came  back,  when  he  got  her  back,  he  would  not  re- 
proach her.  She  would  forgive  then.  And,  having 


A  MAN  AND  A  MAID  279 

made  sure  of  her,  he  would  make  her  life  a  fairy  story, 
himself  the  chief  magician  in  it. 

When  he  could  speak  without  danger,  he  called  for 
Jean  Remain,  and  whispered  that  he  might  name 
his  own  price  if  he  could  find  the  girl's  whereabouts. 
But  the  manservant  shook  his  head:  how  could  he, 
who  had  remained  with  Monsieur^  know  anything 
about  the  young  lady?  He  had  seen  her  leave  the 
house.  She  had  gone.  So  far  as  he,  Jean,  was  con- 
cerned, that  was  the  end  of  her !  Pouf !  Like  that  I 

Jean  Remain  had  to  conceal  his  own  pressing- 
anxiety.  She  had  never  reached  the  house  to  which 
he  had  directed  her ;  nor  had  any  word  come  from  her 
as  yet.  He  dared  not  betray  any  knowledge  of  her, 
dared  not  make  too  many  inquiries,  lest  he  betray 
himself  and  her.  He  was  afraid  to  leave  his  present 
position,  too,  greatly  as  he  loathed  his  employer  and 
wished  to  leave  his  service.  Those  days  were  highly 
unpleasant  for  Jean  Romain,  though  they  were  in- 
teresting for  the  light  they  shed  on  his  employer's 
character.  Jean  was  far  too  shrewd  not  to  under- 
stand the  nature  and  extent  of  the  old  man's  punish- 
ment. It  was  as  though  he  saw  one  devouring  his 
own  heart. 

While  Wenceslaus  lay  in  the  hospital,  his  strong 
peasant  body  fighting  death  with  incredible  obsti- 
nacy, and  the  Baron  von  Rittenheim  fretted  himself 
almost  into  a  fever,  and  a  sullen,  tormented  old  man 
nursed  a  knife  wound  which  had  it  been  a  fraction 
of  an  inch  lower  would  have  pierced  a  lung,  Marya 


280  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

Jadwiga  was  being  soothed  and  coaxed  by  Colette 
O 'Shane,  fed  and  mothered  and  petted  by  Mrs. 
Callaghan,  and  watched  over  by  Brian  Kelly,  in  the 
red-brick  house  in  Charlton  Street,  until  she  looked 
less  like  a  ghost  and  more  like  a  girl. 

Brian  was  experiencing  some  strenuous  days,  him- 
self, just  then.  He  sensed  the  presence  of  that 
undercurrent  which  was  presently  to  become  the  del- 
uge. One  evening  he  had  sat  and  listened  while 
Sprengel  talked.  Sprengel  had  an  uncanny  knowl- 
edge of  European  conditions,  and  his  predictions  of 
what  was  going  to  happen  over  there  had  not  been  re- 
assuring. He  seemed  so  calm,  so  cold,  so  sure,  that 
perspiration  came  on  Policeman  Kelly's  forehead  as 
he  listened.  He  was  conscious,  too,  of  a  curious 
anger.  There  was  something  horrible  in  Sprengel 's 
sureness. 

A  normal  and  intelligent  young  man  who  is  deeply 
in  love,  even  for  the  first  time,  is  generally  able  to 
dissociate  love  from  work,  to  keep  the  two  separate. 
He  knows  his  work  must  go  on,  if  he  himself  is  to 
go  on :  work  is  as  important  to  a  normal  man  as  love 
is ;  as  much  a  part  of  himself  and  his  life.  If  it  were 
not  for  this  saving  faculty  in  men,  the  world  would 
go  to  smash  in  a  week.  So,  although  Brian  Kelly 
found  himself  irrevocably  in  love,  and  was  as  pro- 
foundly moved  as  a  normal  and  cleanly  young  man 
can  be,  he  knew  that  he  had  his  work  to  do ;  that  he 
had  to  keep  level-headed  and  clear-thinking  and  keen- 
eyed  ;  he  was  needed.  And  he  had  to  think  and  plan 
for  Marya  Jadwiga  too. 


A  MAN  AND  A  MAID  281 

She  had  said  to  Mrs.  Callaghan: 

"I  would  not  like  you  to  call  me  'Miss  Fabre.' 
Please  call  me  'Marya  Jadwiga.'  ' 

"  'T  is  a  strange  name,  that.  But  I  like  the  sound 
of  it.  Sure,  it  suits  you,"  said  the  widow. 

"It  was  a  queen's  name,  once — a  queen  of  Poland, 
long  ago." 

"I  had  rather  thought  you  a  Russian,"  and  Co- 
lette, thoughtfully. 

"Legally  I  am  Russian.    But  I  am  a  Pole." 

She  sat,  a  slight,  small  figure,  in  one  of  the  old- 
fashioned  chairs  in  the  pleasant  parlor.  Colette,  her 
lap  full  of  gauzy  work,  sat  near  her,  for  they  made 
a  practice  of  staying  with  her,  of  trying  to  amuse 
and  interest  her.  After  some  quiet  investigation 
Brian  had  discovered  Wenceslaus,  and  had  had  to  tell 
the  girl  the  truth.  Her  blanched  face,  her  terror, 
wrung  his  heart.  It  had  seemed  inhuman  to  tell 
her  this,  on  the  heels  of  what  she  had  just  been 
through,  but  what  could  one  do?  She  had  to 
know.  He  had  been  glad  to  tell  her  that  the  man  she 
had  wounded  would  recover,  although  the  wound  was 
dangerous  and  he  would  be  laid  up  for  some  time 
to  come.  Private  detectives  were  working  on  the 
case  for  him,  and  he  had  offered  a  substantial  re- 
ward for  her.  There  was  a  very  good  description  of 
her,  too. 

She  had  wished  to  go  immediately  to  the  hospital, 
to  be  with  Wenceslaus.  Brian  had  to  argue  with  her, 
to  make  her  see  how  dangerous  that  would  be.  The 
old  man  was  unconscious,  he  reminded  her ;  her  pres- 


282  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

ence  could  do  him  no  good,  and  might  work  mischief 
to  herself,  since  it  might  entail  discovery.  Better  let 
Brian  himself  keep  in  touch  with  the  hospital  au- 
thorities. Reluctantly,  in  tears,  she  assented. 

The  interne  had  told  him  that  the  old  man  was 
just  about  the  same.  AVonderful  that  he  held  out 
so  long !  Everything  that  could  possibly  be  done  for 
him  was  being  done.  The  men  who  had  caused  the 
accident  had  given  orders  that  no  expense  should  be 
spared.  They  had  had  him  put  in  a  private  room, 
with  a  special  nurse  in  charge.  They  had  even  sent 
a  specialist  to  examine  him.  They  had  come  to  see 
him  themselves. 

"They  certainly  seem  to  feel  pretty  bad  about 
it,"  Brian  told  Marya  Jadwiga.  "And,  by  the  way, 
I  believe  they  're  fellow  countrymen  of  yours — Rus- 
sians, or  Poles." 

"Russians?  They  were  Russians  who  ran  down 
Wenceslaus?"  Her  face  grew  chalky,  her  eyes  were 
pools  of  fear.  But  there  was  no  surprise  in  her  voice. 
Now,  why  should  it  terrify  and  yet  not  surprise  her 
that  the  men  had  been  Russians  ?  The  slight  circum- 
stance did  not  escape  his  quick-witted  attention.  One 
other  circumstance  stayed  in  his  mind.  When  she 
fainted,  that  night  he  had  brought  her  here,  and  Mrs. 
Callaghan  and  Colette  were  endeavoring  to  restore 
her  to  consciousness,  they  had  taken  from  her  blouse 
a  thin,  flat  package — papers,  Mrs.  Callaghan  thought, 
by  the  feel  of  it.  On  recovering  her  senses  she  had 
immediately  missed  it,  and  her  distress  was  so  acute 
that  the  two  women  were  hard  put  to  it  to  reassure 


A  MAN  AND  A  MAID  283 

her.  She  cried  aloud  in  her  own  tongue,  and  of  course 
they  did  not  understand  her.  Then  Colette  remem- 
bered the  package,  and  taking  it  from  the  bureau 
drawer  in  which  she  had  placed  it,  returned  it  to  the 
girl's  hands.  Marya  Judwiga  clutched  it,  and  looked 
at  it,  as  one  respited  from  death. 

"Something  very  important  to  you,  dear?  "Well, 
then,  there  it  is  for  you.  It  's  been  safe  in  the  bureau 
drawer,  and  no  harm  done." 

The  young  girl  gave  them  the  strangest  look. 

"My  father.  ...  I  must  keep  it  with  me,  always. 
.  .  .  And  he  has  died  since  I  came  to  this  country," 
she  stammered. 

Brian  Kelly  thought  her  father  must  indeed  have 
entrusted  her  with  something  of  unusual  importance, 
to  call  forth  such  distress.  Because  of  his  training, 
then,  and  because  his  powers  of  deduction  were  devel- 
oping, he  wondered  about  it.  There  was  something 
wrong  here.  Never  with  the  girl;  but  with  her  cir- 
cumstances. This  was  no  ordinary  little  foreigner. 
His  finding  her  appeared  to  the  young  man  more  and 
more  of  a  beautiful  miracle.  Well,  if  she  should 
need  him,  here  he  was;  heart  and  soul,  here  he  was. 
He  would  not  force  her  confidence.  He  could  afford 
to  wait  until  she  was  ready  to  tell  him  whatever  she 
might  have  to  tell. 

She  had  been  in  the  Charlton  Street  house  perhaps 
a  week  when  there  arrived  one  morning  a  huge  box 
of  exquisitely  selected  flowers  for  Miss  Fabre. 

"For  me?"  she  asked  blankly.  Again  that  look  of 
fear,  that  shrinking  back !  But  when  she  opened  the 


284  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

box  and  looked  at  the  card  accompanying  it,  her 
color  returned.  She  penciled  a  few  lines  and  gave 
them  to  the  messenger  stolidly  waiting.  The  next 
morning  the  same  messenger — a  thin,  expressionless 
Japanese — returned,  this  time  with  a  carefully 
wrapped  package.  He  asked  for  Miss  Fabre,  and, 
when  she  appeared,  placed  the  package  in  her  hands, 
bowed  profoundly,  as  to  royalty,  and  slipped  away. 

The  girl,  with  the  package  in  her  arms,  went  slowly 
upstairs  to  the  small  room  which  had  been  given  her, 
and  locked  herself  in.  Afterward,  she  did  not  allude 
to  the  incident ;  she  made  no  attempt  at  explanation ; 
how  could  she?  The  package  opened,  before  her  lay 
an  old  inlaid  box,  containing  some  ancient  Japanese 
jewelry,  of  such  perfection  of  workmanship,  such 
delicacy  and  beauty  that  she  sat  spellbound.  It 
would  have  belonged  to  an  emperor's  favorite,  in  the 
old  days,  she  thought.  This,  then,  was  the  Japanese 
nobleman's  way  of  showing  his  appreciation  to  her 
personally.  He  had  sent  her  a  gift  worthy  of  an  em- 
press. Realizing  this,  she  was  depressed.  Besides 
the  jewels,  the  package  contained  money — money  in 
new,  crisp  bank  notes,  of  such  large  denominations 
that  the  total  amounted  to  a  very  great  sum.  The 
diplomat  had  not  sent  a  check :  he  was  much  too  care- 
ful. His  part,  his  government's  part  in  this  affair 
was  not  easily  to  be  traced.  But  he  had  kept  his 
bargain. 

Marya  Jadwiga  sat  with  a  fortune  in  money,  and 
another  fortune  in  jewels,  in  her  lap;  and 


A  MAN  AND  A  MAID  285 

looked  at  that  fortune  with  growing  despair.  Zu- 
leski  had  meant  to  use  this  money  to  further  his 
work  in  Poland  and  in  Russia;  in  the  meantime  his 
death  had  disrupted  things.  What  was  she  to  do 
with  this,  situated  as  she  was  ?  How  could  she  get  in 
touch  with  Jan  without  betraying  them  both?  And 
here  she  was,  fresh  burdened !  She  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  and  tears  trickled  through  her  fingers. 

She  could  not  think  without  horror  of  what  had 
happened  in  Serajevo.  Zuleski  had  been  in  close 
touch  with  revolutionary  groups  all  over  the  conti- 
nent, and  he  had  therefore  been  in  touch  with  the  Ser- 
bians. Why  had  he  chosen  that  name,  so  little  known 
then,  growing  so  terribly  familiar  to  the  world  now, 
as  a  password  to  those  whom  he  meant  to  betray 
to  each  other  ?  Had  he  known,  and  his  grim  and  sar- 
donic humor  seized  upon  it?  She  was  under  no  illu- 
sions now  as  to  what  his  work  had  been,  and  what  the 
result  of  her  own  work  would  be.  Part  of  her 
mission,  the  most  important  part,  had  already  been, 
fulfilled. 

She  could  visualize  the  Japanese  statesman  and  his 
confreres  studying  those  slips  of  thin  paper,  maps  and 
plans  so  minute,  so  perfect,  so  wonderfully  done  that 
they  must  be  studied  under  lenses.  She  had  often 
watched  her  father  at  this  see-ret  work,  in  which  he 
excelled,  and  she  had  never  outgrown  a  childish  won- 
der at  his  patience  and  at  his  skill.  She  did  not 
know  that  she  was  to  live  to  see,  as  a  part  of  the  re- 
sult of  his  plans,  an  invaded  Siberia.  But  she  could 


"286  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

not  rid  her  mind  of  the  gloomy  fear  that  what  she 
had  done  was  a  dreadful  thing;  that  what  she  was 
yet  to  do  bordered  on  the  monstrous. 

Eevolution,  a  great  fight  in  the  open,  a  titanic 
struggle,  exile,  death — she  could  understand  that ;  she 
could  face  it  without  flinching.  But  all  these  Poland 
had  tried,  and  these  had  failed.  Florian  Zu- 
leski,  knowing  this,  wished  to  make  use  of  deadlier, 
subtler  weapons.  He  would  not  pit  Poland  against 
her  oppressors;  he  would  set  them  at  each  other's 
throats;  betray  them  to  each  other  to  their  undoing. 
To  him  the  end  justified  the  means.  But  Marya  Jad- 
wiga,  although  she  could  not  have  analyzed  it,  pos- 
sessed, not  this  old  nationalistic  conscience,  but  the 
newer,  coming  conscience,  the  slowly  growing  inter- 
national conscience.  She  perceived  the  great  truth 
that  the  injured  is,  in  the  last  analysis,  stronger  than 
the  injurer,  the  oppressed  less  to  be  pitied  than  the 
oppressor ;  that  to  injure  is  to  become  futile.  In  the 
lexicon  of  nations  the  most  ironic  word  is  "Victory." 

She  wondered  how  these  Americans,  into  whose 
hands  she  had  so  wonderfully  come,  would  regard 
her  and  her  mission,  if  they  knew.  That  beautiful 
young  man  whose  presence  filled  her  with  an  emotion 
so  great  that  it  bordered  on  pain — how  would  she 
appear  in  his  eyes?  Not  to  appear  right  in  Brian 
Kelly's  eyes  would  sound  the  depths  of  woe  and 
sorrow.  She  felt  that  he  understood  her  at  her  best, 
the  real  Marya  Jadwiga;  she  felt  that  she  knew  him 
even  as  she  was  known.  She  could  not  bear  that  any 
doubt  should  darken  this  exquisite  sympathy.  She 


A  MAN  AND  A  MAID  287 

had  not  known  that  life  could  hold  such  an  expe- 
rience as  this — she  whose  life  had  known  nothing  but 
poverty  and  loneliness.  Zuleski's  stern  face  of  a 
fanatic  rose  before  her,  with  eyes  that  seemed  to 
search  her  soul  accusingly.  Was  he  demanding  this, 
too?  She  could  not  help  feeling  rebellious. 

It  was  bitterly  hard  for  her  not  to  be  able  to  go  to 
Wenceslaus.  She  was  tormented.  During  these  days 
she  could  not  rest,  she  could  not  eat,  she  could  not 
sleep.  The  tense  small  figure,  the  white,  strained 
face  made  Mrs.  Callaghan  cry,  and  all  but  broke 
Brian  Kelly's  heart.  The  hospital  reported  that  the 
old  man  was  going:  the  strong  body  was  yielding  to 
the  last  foe,  giving  up  the  hopeless  fight.  It  was  but 
a  question  of  an  hour  or  two  at  the  utmost. 

Although  it  was  a  warm  day,  Marya  Jadwiga  sat 
shivering.  Wenceslaus  was  going  out  of  the  world 
— Wenceslaus,  who  had  bounded  her  childish  hori- 
zon, who  had  been  nurse,  friend,  playmate  to  the  un- 
loved, lonely  child  that  had  been  by  herself.  He  had 
taught  her  to  walk,  to  talk,  to  pray.  And  now  he 
was  passing,  and  among  strangers.  She  could  not  be 
with  him.  No  thought  of  personal  danger  could  have 
deterred  her,  though  there  were  those  who  would  be 
hunting  her.  Not  Franciszka,  or  that  terrible  old 
man — she  felt  that  they  were  definitely  out  of  her  life 
now,  that  she  was  finished  and  done  with  them — but 
the  agents  of  Czadowska.  That  Czadowska's  agents 
had  been,  somehow,  at  the  bottom  of  Wenceslaus 's 
tragedy,  haunted  her  thoughts.  There  was  some- 
thing sinister  in  their  interest  in  their  victim.  So 


288  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

Marya  Jadwiga,  unable  to  go  to  Wenceslaus,  sat  with 
Colette  O 'Shane's  rosary  in  her  fingers  and  prayed 
for  him. 

Over  in  the  hospital  the  strong  old  figure  lay  rigid, 
with  heartbeats  growing  fainter  and  fainter.  An  im- 
personal young  woman  in  a  nurse's  uniform,  which 
was  very  becoming  to  her,  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
bed  and  watched  the  pulse  beat  itself  out.  An  in- 
terne, also  professionally  impersonal,  glanced  at  his 
wrist-watch.  An  electric  fan  drove  a  current  of 
languid  air  through  the  warm  room,  which  was  per- 
vaded by  the  hospital  odor.  The  nurse  had  slipped 
the  pillow  from  under  the  old  man's  head,  and  his 
upturned  face  was  as  sharp  and  clear  as  though  it 
had  been  cut  out  with  some  superfine  instrument. 
It  showed  his  blood-relationship  to  Pan  Florian. 

They  had  said  he  might  go  without  speaking,  with- 
out knowing,  but  of  a  sudden  he  opened  his  eyes  and 
stared  upward,  and  a  slow  smile  touched  his  lips.  He 
made  a  groping  movement  of  the  hands,  as  though 
reaching  for  other  hands  held  out  to  him. 

"Pan  Florian!"  It  was  the  thinnest  whisper. 
"Pan  Florian!"  The  hands  went  slack.  The  eyes 
closed.  One  likes  to  think  that  the  lost  dog  had  found 
his  master. 

The  nurse  pulled  a  sheet  over  the  face,  and  two 
orderlies  came  into  the  room.  The  interne  went  out 
into  the  hall,  and  stood  talking  for  a  few  minutes 
with  a  tall  young  policeman  who  had  come  to  make  in- 
quiries about  the  old  man. 

"If  you  know  anything  about  his  friends,  I  wish 


A  MAN  AND  A  MAID  289 

you  'd  communicate  with  the  two  chaps  that  ran  over 
him,"  the  interne  said.  "They  're  anxious  to  get  in 
touch  with  his  friends  because  they  wish  to  pay  all 
the  funeral  expenses.  They  Ve  been  pretty  decent,  I 
must  say." 

Brian  Kelly  told  Marya  Jadwiga  that  all  was  well 
with  her  old  friend.  He  really  had  not  suffered  at  all. 

"He  looked  up  as  though  he  saw  somebody  he  loved, 
called  a  name,  and  died  smiling,"  he  finished. 

"The  name  would  be  'Florian,'  "  she  said,  in  a 
whisper.  "That  was  my  father.  I  am  glad  he  has 
gone  to  my  father  so  soon.  I  don't  think  Wences- 
laus  could  bear  to  live  in  a  world  that  my  father  had 
left.  But — "  she  lifted  tragic  eyes — "that  leaves 
me  utterly  alone;  without  anybody  on  earth." 

They  were  in  the  pleasant  old  parlor,  sweet  with  the 
roses  Jimmy  Darlington  always  sent  to  Colette. 
Mrs.  Callaghan  had  withdrawn,  leaving  the  girl  alone 
with  Brian,  to  hear  and  bear  his  tidings.  The  widow 
trusted  youth  to  console  youth. 

He  looked  down  at  her  as  she  sat  in  a  big  arm- 
chair, and  thought  he  had  never  seen  any  creature  so 
dear  and  so  desolate.  She  was  very  plainly  dressed, 
she  was  in  deep  grief,  and  of  her  -history  he  knew 
only  so  much  as  she  chose  to  tell  him.  But  the  young 
man  felt  the  power  of  beauty,  as  of  something  im- 
mortal, laid  upon  her;  divined  the  exquisite  spirit, 
the  truth,  the  purity,  the  courage  of  which  her  beauty 
was  but  the  outward  sign.  His  love  for  her  was 
reverent. 

He  looked  at  the  bowed,  beloved  head,  his  heart  in 


290  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

his  eyes.  If  she  had  been  less  desolate,  less  grief- 
stricken,  less  in  need  of  him,  he  would  not  have  dared 
do  what  he  did  do — drop  on  his  knees  beside  her,  take 
her  hands  in  both  his,  and  force  her  to  meet  his  eyes, 
full  of  love  and  understanding. 

"Will  you  consider  me  as  somebody  belonging  to 
you?"  he  asked.  "Because  I  do  belong  to  you." 
Nothing  could  have  been  simpler,  more  straightfor- 
ward and  full  of  manly  tenderness. 

Her  lips  trembled.  It  seemed  to  her  that  he  held 
not  her  hands  only  but  her  heart;  that  it  was  there, 
quivering  under  his  fingers. 

' '  If  things  were  different  with  you,  I  'd  wait, ' '  said 
the  young  man.  "But  you  've  got  to  have  somebody 
belonging,  and  I  'm  that  somebody.  I  belonged  to 
you  from  the  first  minute  I  saw  you.  You  remember, 
don't  you  ?  You  were  sitting  in  Madison  Square,  with 
the  poor  old  chap  that  's  just  gone.  Jacques  and  I 
happened  to  be  sitting  opposite.  He  called  my  atten- 
tion to  you;  and  you  looked  up  and  I  saw  your 
eyes.  I  knew,  then.  Did  you  know,  too,  that  you 
and  I  belonged?" 

"I  think  I  must  have  known,"  she  said  truthfully. 
It  was  not  in  her  to  coquet,  to  play  with  or  evade  a 
heavenly  emotion.  She  felt  awed  but  unafraid. 
In  her  hour  of  desolation  this  exquisite  thing 
had  come  to  comfort  her,  to  claim  her,  when  she 
needed  it  most.  A  gratitude,  an  adoration,  a  faith 
never  to  fade  crowned  her  girlish  love  for  him.  The 
young  fellow  in  his  policeman's  uniform  became  of 


A  MAN  AND  A  MAID  291 

a  sudden  kingly:  measured  up  to  the  stature  of  Flo- 
rian  Zuleski. 

"You  do?"  said  the  young  man,  breathlessly.  "I 
hoped  so;  but  I  had  to  hear  you  say  it.  Because  if 
you  know  that,  you  know  I  love  you,  and  how  I  love 
you.  It  's  inevitable,  fate,  God.  call  it  what  you  will. 
You  and  I  had  to  meet." 

She  said,  thoughtfully: 

"I  do  know  that.  I  think  that  is  why  I  came 
here." 

' '  I  won 't  intrude  upon  your  sorrow  now,  with  prot- 
estations." He  flushed.  "But  I  have  to  tell  you  I 
belong  to  you;  I  have  to  make  you  understand  you 
are  n  't  alone.  You  belong  to  me.  Now.  Forever 
and  forever." 

' '  Yes, ' '  she  said  simply.  They  looked  at  each  other, 
gravely.  Florian  Zuleski 's  daughter,  last  of  a 
beggared  line,  a  fugitive,  a  stranger;  Dominick 
Kelly's  son,  blithe  tosser-aside  of  money  and  social 
standing,  a  policeman  in  New  York.  He  held  her 
hands  against  his  lips  and  kissed  them. 

"I  would  not  have  you  forget,"  she  reminded  him 
honestly,  ' '  that  you  know  very  little  about  me.  You 
take  me  on  trust. ' ' 

"I  know  you.  I  know  you  are  mine.  That  's 
enough  for  me,"  said  the  policeman.  At  that  she 
took  his  dark  head  in  her  hands,  delicately,  and 
raising  it  slightly  looked  him  in  his  eyes;  a  long 
steady,  beautiful,  and  proud  look.  With  a  little  sigh 
she  released  him. 


292  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"My  father  and  Wenceslaus  would  be  glad,"  she 
told  him.  He  felt  as  though  he  had  been  accorded  the 
accolade. 

"And  I  would  not  have  you  forget,  dearest  of 
small  ladies,"  he  reminded  her,  speaking  lightly  to 
hide  the  real  depths  of  his  feeling,  "that  I  'm  noth- 
ing but  a  policeman." 

"But,"  she  wondered,  admiring  him  with  all  her 
heart, ' '  are  not  policeman  great  lords  in  this  country  ? 
They  seem  so  to  me." 

He  admitted  cautiously: 

' '  Well,  some  of  us  may  be  called  great  autocrats. ' ' 
He  had  his  own  opinion  of  the  force — some  of  them 
worse  than  the  criminals  they  persecute ;  some  of  them 
grafters ;  many  of  them  stupid  as  oxen ;  but  the  general 
run  of  them  decent  and  kindly  men,  civic  soldiers, 
many  of  whom  die  in  the  discharge  of  their  duty.  He 
wondered,  sometimes,  why  the  public  which  accepts 
them  so  casually,  hates  them  so  instinctively,  and  obeys 
them  so  blindly  does  not  on  occasion  consider  some  of 
the  good  the  police  do  daily  and  as  a  matter  of  course. 
They  were  not  plaster  saints,  of  course;  but,  take 
them  by  and  large,  weigh  all  their  mistakes  and  sins 
in  the  balance,  and  he  thought  they  totted  up  an 
average  that  would  make  men  of  the  professions — 
say,  doctors,  lawyers,  and  clergymen — go  down  in  the 
scale.  He  was  not  at  all  ashamed  of  being  in  their 
ranks;  and  yet,  considering  the  girl  whose  life  was 
henceforth  to  be  entwined  with  his  own,  he  wished 
policemen  got  bigger  salaries. 

"I  think  I  like  autocrats,"  said  Marya  Jadwiga. 


A  MAN  AND  A  MAID  293 

Timidly  she  held  out  her  hand,  and  he  took  it 
comfortingly.  "I  think  I  am  glad  you  are  an  auto- 
crat, Mr.  Kelly." 

"You  must  learn  to  say  'Brian.'  ' 

"I  shall  like  to  say  'Brian.'  " 

' '  You  've  got  all  the  rest  of  your  life  to  like  saying 
it,  thank  God,"  said  he.  He  wished  he  could  stay 
with  her,  but  he  was  not  an  idle  young  man  any  more, 
and  his  time  was  not  his  own.  He  had  to  report. 
She,  too,  rose,  and  stood  looking  up  at  him.  Despite 
her  grief,  her  loss,  her  fear,  her  little  heart-shaped 
face  glowed  like  a  pearl,  her  sea-maiden's  eyes  were 
full  of  silver  light.  He  said,  stammering,  breathless : 

"M-Marya  Jadwiga!" 

"Brian!" 

And  at  that  he  took  her  in  his  arms ;  he  could  not 
help  it.  She  clung  to  him;  she  could  not  help  it. 
She  had  left  her  place  and  her  home,  her  life  had  been 
disrupted,  she  had  escaped  wreck  and  death,  to  come 
to  this,  moving  inevitably  toward  this  man's  arms. 
And  his  life  had  shaped  itself  to  meet  her,  to  be  ready 
for  her  when  she  came.  He  bent  his  tall  head  and 
kissed  her,  and  at  the  touch  of  his  lips  Marya  Jad- 
wiga awoke. 

When  she  wept  now  her  tears  were  no  longer  bitter, 
Borrow  was  gentle ;  she  was  not  alone.  The  motherli- 
ness  of  the  widow  Callaghan  enfolded  her  com- 
fortingly. Colette — gay,  brave,  and  at  the  same  time 
intensely  practical — had  immediately  set  herself  to 
help  the  girl  irrupted  thus  suddenly  into  the  family, 


294  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

and  was  already  teaching  her  her  own  clever  art. 
Monsieur  Jacques  used  to  come  and  sketch  her.  He 
liked  to  talk  to  her,  but  he  never  asked  her  unneces- 
sary questions.  Mr.  Darlington,  too,  seemed  to  be 
satisfied  to  accept  her  just  as  she  was.  That  was  the 
wonderful  part  of  it  to  her,  the  part  that  healed 
and  restored  her:  they  took  her  for  granted! 

Dressed  in  the  simple  black  clothes  which  Colette 
fashioned  for  her  with  such  consummate  skill,  she  was 
beginning  really  to  fit  into  this  new,  sane,  happier  life, 
as  though  she  belonged  to  it.  Her  laughter  was  all 
too  infrequent,  she  smiled  too  rarely,  but  a  shy  happi- 
ness showed  itself  in  her.  For  although  no  more  than 
that  one  avowal  had  passed  between  her  and  Brian, 
she  saw  him  daily,  and  she  knew  herself  beloved  by 
the  beloved.  She  had  not  been  accustomed  to  demand 
much  for  herself,  and  she  did  not  demand  much  now. 

As  for  Brian  Kelly,  he  walked  in  that  world  none 
but  lovers  know,  and  at  the  same  time  he  was  able  to 
walk  sure-footedly  in  his  everyday  world.  He  had 
the  knowledge  of  grim  things  happening  all  around 
him,  and  a  prescience  of  cataclysmic  things  about  to 
happen  elsewhere.  His  future  was  extremely  uncer- 
tain, and  from  a  worldly  point  of  view  he  was  any- 
thing but  a  shining  success.  The  step  he  proposed 
to  take,  marrying  an  unknown  and  penniless  girl, 
would  cut  him  off  once  and  forever  from  any  hope 
of  regaining  his  father 's  good  will.  Yet  all  these  un- 
toward circumstances  failed  to  dim  his  young  delight. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  cope  with  anything, 
everything,  that  might  come.  He  was  lost  in  wonder 


A  MAN  AND  A  MAID  295 

at  the  miracle  which  had  happened  to  him.  He 
walked  with  his  head  up,  his  eyes  shining,  his  heart 
singing. 

"It  's  a  great  thing  to  be  a  cop ! ' '  Jimmy  Darling- 
ton said  enviously.  "Gad,  Kell!  you  almost  make 
me  wish  I  was  a  nurse  girl ! ' ' 

Brian  laughed.  He  tasted  his  happiness  with  quiet 
relish.  And  then  he  came  home  one  noon  and  found 
in  the  old-fashioned  parlor  the  handsomest,  haughtiest 
mortal  he  had  ever  seen.  This  paladin  fixed  him 
with  large  blue  eyes  as  clear  and  cold  as  a  January 
night.  It  was  an  impersonal  look ;  but  had  Brian  been 
less  than  Brian,  it  would  have  made  him  uncom- 
fortable. For  it  weighed,  measured,  and  placed  him 
in  the  exact  social  niche  which  a  policeman 's  uniform 
warrants,  and  then  dismissed  him  as  inevitably  as  a 
brigadier-general  might  dismiss  a  first-class  private. 
Brian  could  gage  the  man's  just  estimate  of  his 
quality  as  a  policeman — that  they  picked  their  men 
very  shrewdly  over  here,  did  their  policemen  very 
well  indeed. 

He  had  seen  this  superb  type  on  its  native  Euro- 
pean heath ;  had  even  come  in  contact  with  it  in  his 
trips  abroad.  He  had  always  paid  it  a  certain  re- 
spectful homage,  for  within  its  limits  it  had  been 
made  and  trained  into  as  near  mental  and  physical 
perfection  and  efficiency  as  could  be  achieved  by 
mere  mortals.  He  admired  it,  but  he  did  not  like  it. 
He  thought,  oddly  enough,  that  this  higher  type  was 
the  continuation  and  completion  of  the  Sprengel 
type;  and  that  he  did  not  like  either  in  Charlton 


296  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

Street.  Quite  unconsciously  he  gave  the  other  man  as 
quick,  clear,  and  coldly  appraising  a  glance  as  had 
been  bestowed  upon  himself. 

Marya  Jadwiga  introduced  Officer  Kelly  to  Baron 
von  Rittenheim,  who  bent  his  baronial  back,  clicked 
his  heels  together,  and  said  politely  that  he  was 
pleased  to  make  Mr.  Kelly's  acquaintance ;  that  he  was 
genuinely  interested  in  the  personnel  and  morale  of 
the  New  York  Police  Department.  And  plainly 
waited  for  this  particular  member  of  it  to  take  him- 
self off.  There  being  nothing  else  to  do,  Brian  did 
take  himself  off. 

Who  the  deuce  was  this  Junker,  how  had  he  found 
his  way  here,  and  what  was  he  here  for?  Policeman 
Kelly  was  lost  in  wonder. 


CHAPTER  XV 

HOW  TO  TIP  A  POLICEMAN 

IT   is   permitted   that   one    smoke?"    Rittenheim 
wished  to  put  the  girl  at  her  ease;  he  under- 
stood that  a  man  smoking  always  appears  less 
formidable   to   women.     He   could   sense   her   tense 
attitude  relax,  though  she  was  still  painfully  shaken 
by  his  unexpected  appearance.     She  was  asking  her- 
self how  They  had  trailed  her  to  this  quiet  house,  this 
refuge   which   had  seemed   so  secure,   so   safe.    As 
though  he  divined  her  thoughts,  he  said,  after  a  few 
preliminary  puffs: 

' '  The  Lanska  woman  told  me  you  had  gone  out  with 
an  old  gentleman.  I  forced  her  to  tell  me  where 
you  'd  gone,  and  with  whom ;  I  was  suspicious. 
When  I  reached  the  address  she  had  given,  I  found 
that  an  unmannerly  old  person  had  come  to  well- 
deserved  grief,  and  doctors  were  trying  to  patch  up 
the  damage,  policemen  were  blundering  about,  as 
usual,  and  the  lady  in  the  case  had  disap- 
peared. That  necessitated  a  second  call  upon  Madame 
Franciszka  Lanska."  He  looked  meditatively  at  the 
cigarette  in  his  fingers.  Marya  Jadwiga  surmised 
that  that  second  interview  had  been  unpleasant  for 
Franciszka. 

297 


298  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"Her  meddling  displeased  us.  It  upset — or  rather, 
delayed — certain  plans,"  said  the  baron.  "We  had 
to  make  her  understand  that  such  conduct  was  not  con- 
ducive to  her  comfort.  I  think  we  made  her  under- 
stand," he  finished,  mildly. 

' '  Several  hours  later  we  traced  Wenceslaus.  As  he 
was  unconscious,  we  couldn't  hope  to  get  any  in- 
formation from  him.  But  we  kept  a  very  careful 
watch  upon  all  visitors.  We  also  traced  the  men  who 
ran  him  down — I  should  say  Czadowska's  men,  on  a 
first  guess.  Also,  we  traced  your  friend  the  police- 
man. It  is  not  usual  for  a  policeman  to  take  such 
keen  interest  in  a  casual  killing,  we  thought,  and  we 
wondered  why  this  particular  officer  should  come  in 
person.  It  was  a  slight  clue,  but  we  followed  it  up, 
had  this  house  watched,  and  you  were  seen  at  the 
window.  Very  simple,  after  all;  yes?"  He  blew 
some  beautiful  smoke  rings,  and  watched  them  through 
half -closed  eyes. 

Marya  Jadwiga  said,  yes,  indeed ;  it  was  very  simple, 
after  all.  And  she  tried,  not  too  successfully,  to  pre- 
vent him  from  discovering  how  afraid  she  was.  As 
she  watched  him  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  saw  him 
with  clearer  eyes.  It  was  not  that  he  was  less 
beautiful,  less  perfect.  She  admitted  his  perfection. 
But  she  saw,  now,  the  underlying  hard  arrogance  of 
his  type,  its  absolute  conviction  of  its  own  immeas- 
urable superiority,  its  belief  that  nature  made  it  of 
finer,  rarer  clay  than  other  men.  His  rank  and  birth, 
his  name,  his  privileges,  his  place  in  the  world  were 
God-given,  and  not  to  be  questioned  or  disputed  by 


HOW  TO  TIP  A  POLICEMAN  299 

lesser  beings.  He  wore  life  sultan-like,  and  pride  was 
as  natural  as  breathing. 

Her  father  had  been  proud.  But  that  had  been 
the  nobler,  larger  pride  of  an  indomitable  soul  who 
serves  freedom.  A  great  aristocrat,  Zuleski  had  been 
a  great  democrat,  a  man  too  proud  to  placate  or  bend 
to  the  half-gods  Caste  and  Creed. 

And  then,  with  a  warm  glow  at  the  heart,  she 
thought  of  Brian  Kelly — indeed,  he  was  never  absent, 
for  any  length  of  time,  from  her  thoughts — Police- 
man Kelly,  big  and  beautiful,  who  had  told  her, 
homeless,  penniless,  fugitive  as  she  was,  that  he  be- 
longed to  her ;  who,  forlorn  as.  she  was,  had  kissed  her 
hand  as  one  of  her  knights  might  have  kissed  the'hand 
of  Queen  Marya  Jadwiga  in  the  old  days  of  Poland's 
glory.  And  it  seemed  to*  her  that  this  American 
overtopped  the  blond  overlord  by  the  head  and 
shoulders;  was  the  nobler  and  truer  gentleman.  So 
trusting  him,  and  loving  him,  her  terror  of  other  men 
lessened. 

"You  haven't  told  me  how  you  happened  to  meet 
these  people;  how  it  is  that  I  find  you  here." 
Rittenheim  looked  around  the  pleasant  room  critically, 
and  was  faintly  amused  to  find  himself  distinctly  ap- 
proving of  its  details. 

' '  These  are  evidently  very  worthy  people, ' '  he  con- 
ceded. His  tone  was  gracious  enough,  but  some  un- 
conscious undercurrent  of  condescension  in  it  struck 
her  ear  unpleasantly.  She  said  stiffly: 

"I  have  never  before  met  people  like  them  for 
goodness  and  generosity.  I  adore  them!  Their 


300  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

adopted  daughter,  Colette  0 'Shane,  designs  clothes 
for  theatrical  people,  and  she  is  teaching  me  to  sew. 
She  thinks  I  am  clever  at  it,  and  may  make  a  good 
living  presently.  I  find  it  very  fascinating  work." 

Bittenheim  smiled  good  humoredly,  as  at  a 
child.  He  liked  her  simplicity  and  candor — excellent 
traits  in  a  woman,  particularly  when  one's  feeling 
for  that  woman  is  dangerousely  disturbing  to  one's 
peace  of  mind.  For  he,  who  might  choose  among 
the  fairest  and  proudest  and  noblest  of  his  world, 
knew  that  this  hunted,  fugitive  girl  was  the  heart's 
desire.  He  might  not  allow  her  to  sway  his  actions 
or  play  too  great  a  part  in  his  destiny ;  he  might  not 
be  willing  to  sacrifice  his  ambition  for  her  sake:  he 
had  not  yet  reached  that  stage,  and  his  will  still  held 
his  heart  in  check.  But  he  most  decidedly  dicf  not 
intend  to  allow  these  Americans  to  obtain  too  great 
a  control  over  her,  as  there  seemed  danger  of  their 
doing.  He  wished  to  counteract  any  influence  that 
might  in  the  future  threaten  his  own.  He  said,  with 
just  the  right  edge : 

"Sewing  for  theatrical  persons?  That  may  be 
quite  all  right  for  Miss  0 'Shane,  but — it  wouldn't 
do  for  the  Countess  Zuleska. ' ' 

' '  The  Countess  Zuleska  must  learn  how  to  earn  her 
own  living,"  said  Marya  Jadwiga,  smiling  faintly. 
"I  could,  perhaps,  become  a  teacher  of  languages,  but 
Colette  says  designing  theatrical  costumes  pays  much 
better.  I  should  like  to  make  costumes,  but  I  'm 
afraid  I  should  abhor  teaching  languages." 

''But  there  is  really  no  necessity  for  your  doing 


HOW  TO  TIP  A  POLICEMAN  301 

either,"  the  baron  reminded  her.  "Your  father  ex- 
plained to  you  that  there  would  be  a  fair  exchange; 
did  he  not?  Let  me  confirm  that  statement.  That 
is  why  I  am  here." 

She  evaded  a  reply,  but  asked  instead,  apprehen- 
sively : 

"There  will  really  be  war?" 

The  baron  got  up,  and  walked  twice  up  and  down 
the  room  before  he  replied.  Then  he  said,  unwill- 
ingly : 

"There  will  be  war." 

"But  you — "  she  began,  and  then:  "Herr  Baron, 
do  you  want  war?" 

' '  I  ?  No !  But  I,  and  others  like  me,  will  be  swept 
off  our  feet.  We  sha'n't  be  able  to  help  it.  And 
when  we  're  in  for  it,  I  shall  of  course  do  my  duty." 
He  spoke  with  a  sort  of  despairing  impatience. 

"You  are  going  back — soon?" 

"One  obeys,"  said  the  baron,  briefly. 

Marya  Jadwiga  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands. 

"I  was  sent  because  your  affair  was  important.  As 
soon  as  that  is  arranged,  I  go.  I  shall  be  needed. ' ' 

' '  I  am  sorry, ' '  said  she,  in  a  very  low  voice. 

"Sorry  that  I  came  here?     Or  that  I  go  back?" 

"Both." 

He  had  paused  to  face  her  as  he  spoke.  Now  he 
took  a  step  nearer,  and  stood  looking  down  at  her, 
strangely  moved. 

"Countess,  if  things  were  different,  I  should  ask 
you  to  return  with  me,"  said  he.  "As  things  are, 
that  would  not  be  fair  to  you." 


302  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"You  are  very  kind,  Herr  Baron,"  said  the  young 
girl,  gratefully  enough.  "But  I  find  I  must  stay  .here 
in  America.  I  should  probably  be  a  trouble  to  you, 
over  there.  Here  I  can  make  a  living  for  myself." 

He  saw  that  she  had  misunderstood  him,  and  he 
bit  his  lip ;  but  he  did  not  attempt  to  enlighten  her. 
He  was  of  the  more  liberal  group,  not  of  the  milita- 
ristic party,  but  he  knew  he  must  expect  to  be  drawn 
into  the  whirlpool;  and  he  dared  not  risk  this  with 
Florian  Zuleski's  daughter  tied  to  him.  That  would 
make  his  position  well-nigh  intolerable.  When  things 
righted  themselves — 

' '  I  am  so  sure  you  could  never  be  a  trouble  to  any- 
body, in  any  circumstances,  that  we  will  waive  all 
talk  of  it,"  said  he,  pleasantly.  "We  will  talk,  in- 
stead, of  my  reason  for  being  here."  And,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  he  continued,  in  a  lower  tone:  "I 
am  sure  you  understand.  Your  father  made  certain 
promises,  and  received  in  return  certain  proofs  of  the 
estimation  in  which  we  held  those  promises.  I  am 
here  to  carry  out  our  part  of  the  agreement." 

She  could  vision  the  gaunt  old  scholar  dealing  with 
this  emissary  of  a  power  he  hated — using  him  and  all 
of  them  to  some  cataclysmic  end  of  his  own.  And 
now  there  was  going  to  be  war ;  and  this  man  was 
demanding  that  she  should  keep  her  father's  promises. 
She  remembered  that  day,  long  before,  when  her 
father  had  shown  her  the  secret  which  the  little  carved 
griffins  kept  so  effectively.  And  that  other  day  when 
he  had  made  her  swear  that  she  would  hold  her  life 
in  her  fingers — for  Poland.  She  was  more  than 


HOW  TO  TIP  A  POLICEMAN  303 

willing  to  do  that.  But  to  be  true  to  one,  must  one 
be  false  to  all  others  ?  Her  heart  rebelled  against  the 
idea.  No,  she  could  not  betray.  Indeed,  had  there 
been  any  possible  way  for  her  to  get  back  that  which 
she  had  given  the  Japanese,  she  thought  she  could  have 
gone  on  her  knees  around  the  world  to  have  it  again 
in  her  keeping.  And  this  despite  the  fact  that  her 
father,  whom  she  adored  as  one  adores  a  superior 
spirit,  had  bidden  her  to  do  what  she  had  done ;  had 
shaped  his  life  and  hers  that  it  might  come  to  pass. 

Give  this  man  that  which  betrayed  Russia  into  his 
hands?  Give  the  spies  of  Czadowska  that  which  be- 
trayed this  man 's  people  ?  The  horror  that  had  been 
growing  in  her  since  the  day  that  the  word  "Sera- 
jevo"  had  leaped  at  her  from  the  pages  of  a  news- 
paper, came  to  a  head  as  she  reached  her  decision. 

"I  said,  a  moment  ago — that  I  was  sorry  you  had 
come,"  she  said  in  a  whisper.  "Because,  Herr  Baron 
— you  came  for — nothing." 

She  had  said  it!  She  was  disobeying  orders;  she 
was  defying  commands.  But  her  courage  rose.  Per- 
haps, outside,  the  stern  ghost  of  Florian  Zuleski 
understood  that  she  was  as  true  a  daughter  of  Poland 
as  he  had  been  a  son. 

But  the  German  nobleman  stood  very  still,  and 
stared  down  at  her,  his  arms  folded  on  his  chest. 
His  immobility,  his  quietness,  were  more  formidable 
than  another's  rage.  His  eyes  narrowed  ever  so 
slightly,  the  bright  red  mouth  in  the  golden  beard 
lost  its  smile,  and  the  lips  closed  without  softness. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  said  the  baron.     "If  the 


304  TWO  SHALL  BE  BOEN 

gracious  countess  will  explain?  Count  Florian  Zu- 
leski  made  certain  promises.  There  was  a  pre- 
liminary payment.  I  had  his  word,  the  word  of  a 
nobleman.  Am  I  to  understand  that  Count  Florian 
was  insane,  not  to  be  held  to  a  promise,  or  that  he 
deliberately — obtained  goods  under  false  pretenses?" 

She  blenched.  Impugn  Zuleski's  honor?  Her  face 
expressed  agonized  pride. 

"He  accepted  money  from  you?  I  will  pay  it 
back,  Herr  Baron ;  I  will  pay  it  back,  all  of  it,  every 
penny!  I  will  sew,  I  will  work  all  my  life,  but  I 
will  pay  it  back ! "  she  cried.  "You  knew  my  father : 
you  dare  not  think  such  evil  of  him!" 

"If  the  gracious  lady  will  explain?"  he  repeated. 
"I  know  he  sent  you  out  of  the  country  because  he 
was  on  the  brink  of  arrest  by  Czadowska,  who  had 
finally  secured  evidence  of  his  activities.  To  save 
you,  to  save  his  plans,  he  told  me,  he  sent  you  away. 
We  were  to  follow  you  here,  secretly,  and  when  we 
repeated  to  you  the  word  I  have  given  you,  you  would 
hand  over  a  certain  small  package,  and  receive — a 
stipulated  exchange." 

She  had  no  denial. 

"This  being  so,  what  am  I  to  think  of  your  state- 
ment that  I  have  come  here — for  nothing?"  he 
demanded,  his  haughty  spirit  up  in  arms.  What! 
Send  him,  Kittenheim,  upon  a  wild-goose  chase, 
a  fool's  errand,  and  at  so  critical  a  period?  "You 
speak  of  repayment?  There  is  but  one  repayment: 
make  Zuleski's  promise  good." 


HOW  TO  TIP  A  POLICEMAN 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said.  "Herr  Baron,  I  am  sorry. 
But  I  have  nothing  to  give  you;  nothing  to  receive 
from  you."  She  forced  herself  to  meet  his  searching 
scrutiny. 

"Will  the  gracious  countess  please  explain?"  he 
asked  again,  politely.  But  what  had  she  to  explain? 
She  could  not,  dared  not  give  him  those  plans.  To 
do  this  would  have  been  to  betray  not  Russia  only 
but  Mankind.  And  since  she  had  learned  to  love, 
Marya  Jadwiga  had  discovered  that  she  had  never 
known  how  to  hate.  It  was  not  through  hate,  not 
through  betrayal  that  Poland  must  rise,  must  win 
true  freedom.  Freedom  does  not  live  in  the  hatred 
and  the  wrongs  of  the  dead,  but  in  the  love  and  the 
justice  of  the  living. 

"I  have  nothing  to  explain,  Herr  Baron,  except 
to  say  I  will  pay  back  the  sum  my  father  received,  if 
it  is  possible  for  me  to  do  so.  That  is  all  I  can  give 
you." 

"Your  father — "  he  began,  trying  to  keep  himself 
in  hand. 

"My  father,"  she  reminded  him,  "is  dead." 

"Do  you  mean  me  to  understand  that  your  father 
did  not  send  you  here  to  deliver  what  he  had  prom- 
ised us?" 

"I  mean,  Herr  Baron,  that  I  have  nothing  to  give 
you." 

"That  you  will  not?     That  you  cannot?" 

"I  cannot." 

"Have   you   anything — for   the    other   side?"   he 


306  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

asked  and  something  of  menace  crept  into  his  voice. 

' '  I  have  no  more  for  any  other  than  for  you.  And 
that  means — nothing,"  said  she. 

His  eyes  bored  into  hers.  He  knew  what  he 
knew.  Florian  Zuleski  had  not  been  one  to  play  with 
fire  for  a  jest's  sake,  and  he  had  played  not  only  with 
fire  but  with  death.  Rittenheim  was  not  satis- 
fied now  to  accept  lightly  the  girl's  "I  have  nothing 
for  you." 

' '  But  you  did  have  a  package,  did  you  not  ?  Your 
father  did  give  you  certain  papers?  And  you  did 
receive  certain  definite  instructions  what  to  do  with 
them?  I  know  this  is  true  because  you  knew  the 
password.  You  knew  it." 

"It  is  a  word  the  whole  world  knows  now,  Herr 
Baron." 

"That  is  not  answering  my  questions.  I  must 
insist  that  you  answer  my  questions." 

' '  But  suppose  I  do  not  recognize  your  right  to  ques- 
tion me?" 

"Do  you  recognize  my  right  to  question  your  de- 
liberately disobeying  your  father's  commands?  Or 
did  the  old  man  lie,  gracious  lady?" 

She  blenched  again. 

"You  must  judge  him.  You  must  judge  me," 
she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

He  had,  for  the  moment,  a  sick  revulsion.  His  dis- 
like for  Poles  in  general,  his  smarting  consciousness 
of  having  been  tricked  and  duped,  reacted  upon  his 
troublesome  liking  for  the  girl.  Must  he  distrust 


HOW  TO  TIP  A  POLICEMAN  307 

her,  too?  Open  brow,  clear  eyes,  child's  mouth — if 
these  spelt  falseness,  whom  was  a  man  to  trust  ? 

"Have  you  considered  how  I  must  judge  you,  if 
I  judge  by  appearances?"  he  demanded.  ''Is  there 
no  truth,  no  faith  in  you  Poles  ?  No  honesty  of  pur- 
pose? Are  you  all  tricksters?" 

"Honesty  of  purpose?  Faith?  Truth?  This,  to 
a  Pole,  from  a  German?"  said  she,  with  flashing 
eyes.  "Have  you  shown  us  these  things,  that  you 
demand  them  of  us  ?  You  had  better  ask  yourself ! ' ' 

"I  crave  pardon.  We  depart  from  the  main  issue, 
and  recriminations  get  us  nowhere.  Your  father 
must  have  given  you  the  plans.  And  we  know  that 
Czadowska  suspected  him  of  having  them,  or  at  least 
of  knowing  very  much  more  than  he  should  have 
known  about  them.  There  was  evidence  to  that 
effect.  What  have  you  done  with  themf  Lost  them? 
Sold  them  ?  Exchanged  them  ? ' ' 

"I  have  told  you,"  said  she,  "that  I  have  nothing 
for  you,  and  I  have  told  you  the  truth.  I  shall  add 
nothing  to  that  statement." 

"One  does  not  play  fast  and  loose  with  affairs  of 
great  powers  and  go  scot-free,"  he  warned  her.  "If 
I  liked  you  less,  if  I  did  not  have  your  welfare  at 
heart,  if  I  did  not  wish  to  shield  you,  I  should  feel 
myself  free  to  take  drastic  action.  As  it  is,  I  do  not 
wish  to  threaten.  But  I  do  warn  you.  Countess, 
I  do  not  think  you  realize  the  tremendous  gravity  of 
the  situation  which  confronts  you,  or  the  importance 
of  the  issues  at  stake.  I  beg  you,  then,  to  tell  me 


308  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

the  truth :  what  have  you  done  with  the  papers  your 
father  entrusted  to  you?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"Shall  you  have  nothing  to  eay  to  Czadowska's 
agents,  Countess?" 

"What  should  I  have  to  say  to  them  that  I  may 
not  say  to  you?"  she  asked. 

"Ah,  what,  indeed?"  mused  the  baron.  "Have 
you,  had  he,  a  secret  understanding  with  Czadowska  ? 
Does  Czadowska  think  you  a  German  spy?  Or  am 
I  to  consider  you  a  Russian  agent?" 

He  had  seated  himself,  facing  her.  He  was  finger- 
ing his  cigarette  delicately,  and  his  voice  was  exceed- 
ingly pleasant.  But  she  saw  that  the  blue  eyes  had  a 
glacial  glint. 

"A  spy,"  resumed  the  baron,  meditatively,  "gets 
short  shift,  when  he — or  she — is  caught.  And  once 
suspected,  spies  are  generally  caught.  For  instance, 
Czadowska  might  have  you  deported.  You  are  a 
Russian  subject,  you  know.  And,  by  the  way,  do 
these  people  you  are  with  know  your  true  name  and 
business?  Or  are  you  still  'Miss  Fabre'  to  them?" 

"They  call  me  Marya  Jadwiga,"  said  she,  almost 
inaudibly. 

"Oh,  they  do?  Played  good  Samaritan,  and  love 
you  all  the  better  for  it?  You  're  merely  a  little 
middle-class  immigrant,  and  your  sole  relative  has 
just  been  killed?  I  see!  H'm!  You  're  clever, 
Countess !  So  clever  I  'm  afraid  I  sha  'n  't  be  able  to 
accept  your  word — and  my  conge." 

Marya  Jadwiga,  confronted  by  the  menace  which 


HOW  TO  TIP  A  POLICEMAN  309 

was  to  overwhelm  the  entire  world,  was  acting  upon 
her  own  initiative  for  the  first  time;  and  she  intui- 
tively acted  in  terms  of  conscience  and  not  of  ex- 
pediency or  revenge.  No !  It  is  not  by  revenge,  not 
in  betrayal,  that  right  triumphs. 

"It  may  be  a  matter  of  life — and  death,  Countess," 
the  quiet  voice  was  saying.  "Try  to  understand: 
I  wish  to  save  you.  It  was  for  your  sake  I  gained 
permission  to  come  on  this  mission.  I  wished  to  deal 
with  you,  myself."  Keal  feeling  crept  into  his  tone. 
"I  can't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  believe  that  you — you 
— could  be  a  cat's-paw  for  Czadowska — particularly, 
when  one  remembers  that  your  family  has  never  been 
on  good  turns  with  the  Romanoffs.  For  instance, 
your  grandfather,  Casimir  Zuleski,  was  exiled  to 
Siberia.  The  story  goes  that  he  was  knouted  to  death 
there." 

Casimir  Zuleski!  It  was  as  though  a  thin  and  icy 
wind  touched  her.  'She  shuddered  as  from  the  chill 
of  it.  Ah,  why  had  he  mentioned  that  name? 
Knouted  to  death?  She  had  heard  that  before;  and 
she  could  believe  it  true.  And  she  began  to  see  the 
terrible  vengeance  Casimir 's  son  had  exacted.  For 
that  blood  spilled  long  ago,  he  was  opening  the  flood- 
gates; he  was  calling  in  a  new  and  sinister  force, 
more  ruthless  because  more  intelligent  than  the 
Romanoffs.  And  he  had  used  her,  Marya  Jadwiga, 
the  last  of  his  line,  to  deliver  what  he  had  terribly 
and  ironically  called  the  Key  of  Siberia,  to  open  Holy 
Russia  to  her  worst  enemies. 

Rittenheim  saw  her  recoil,  searched  the  wincing 


310  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

face,  and  smiled  to  himself.  No,  he  reflected, 
she  was  not  in  league  with  the  Russians.  But  what 
was  he  to  think  ?  What  game  had  Zuleski  been  play- 
ing? How  much  did  this  girl  really  know?  What 
had  been  her  instructions?  Or  had  Wenceslaus 
known  ?  If  only  they  could  have  gotten  hold  of  Wen- 
ceslaus first!  He  wondered  if,  perhaps,  that  was 
why  Wenceslaus  had  met  with  a  fatal  accident  so 
opportunely — because  Czadowska's  agents  knew? 

"And  to  come  down  to  later  times:  Wenceslaus 
did  not  find  the  streets  of  New  York  any  safer  than 
he  would  have  found  the  streets  of  Warsaw,"  he  re- 
minded her,  significantly. 

Marya  Jadwiga's  hands  went  to  her  heart.  But 
she  said  steadily: 

"He  was  not  afraid  of  that,  Herr  Baron;  nor  am 
I." 

"No?    But  I  am,  for  you,"  said  he. 

' '  Oh ! ' '  said  she,  with  a  touch  of  bitter  impatience, 
"to  bring  these  old  hates,  these  old  terrors,  these  old 
revenges  here,  in  this  free  air!  It  is  monstrous! 
No !  I  have  nothing  for  you ;  I  have  nothing  for  any 
of  you!  I  will  live,  I  will  work,  in  the  open,  I  will 
not  be  enmeshed  in  intrigues !  I  will  not  betray  any- 
thing or  anybody ! ' ' 

"You  are  Florian  Zuleski 's  daughter,"  he  reminded 
her,  grimly  enough. 

"I  am  myself!  Since  I  came  here  I  have  begun 
to  believe  I  am  a  free  agent,"  she  replied.  "That 
is  what  this  America  does  to  one:  one  breathes  it 
with  the  air." 


HOW  TO  TIP  A  POLICEMAN  311 

' '  You  were  free  to  stab  your  venerable  wooer  when 
he  considered  himself  free  to  annoy  you  with  prot- 
estations of  affections — and  to  escape  the  conse- 
quences. You  were  lucky ;  but  I  should  n  't  put  too 
much  faith  in  luck,  if  I  were  you;  no,  nor  too  much 
faith  in  American  freedom.  You  might  ask  your 
friend  the  policeman — Kelly,  the  name  is,  no?  The 
Irish  are  born  rebels  in  their  own  country  and  police- 
men in  this,  it  appears! — you  might  ask  your  friend 
the  policeman  to  explain  to  you  how  free  he  allows  his 
fellow  citizens  to  be!" 

"If  we  Poles  were  allowed  to  be  as  free — "  said 
she. 

"You  would  probably  be  playing  the  role  you  con- 
demn in  us,"  he  responded.  "The  under  dog  is  not 
necessarily  any  more  virtuous  than  the  upper  dog, 
Countess.  More  often  than  not  he  brought  his  fate 
upon  himself,  and  deserves  what  he  gets." 

"If  you  happened  to  be  the  under  dog,  would  you 
still  say  that?" 

"If  we  lose,  we  deserve  to  lose,"  said  he,  shortly. 
"But  we  digress.  This  is  unprofitable  discussion, 
which  brings  us  nowhere." 

"I  have  been  trying  to  make  you  understand  that, 
all  along,"  said  she,  wearily. 

"Touched!"  cried  the  gold-haired  baron,  smiling. 
"You  can  claim  first  blood.  But  I  shall  come  back. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  next?" 

"Nothing,"  briefly. 

"Will  you  promise  me  to  do  nothing  until  I  see  you 
again?"  he  asked  earnestly.  "And  will  you  reflect 


312  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

how  vitally  important  this  thing  is?"  He  stood  up, 
and  took  her  hand.  "I  wish  to  be  your  friend;  will 
you  believe  that?" 

"I  will  believe  that,  Herr  Baron;  because  you  have 
no  reason  to  be  my  enemy." 

"I  could  never  be  your  enemy.  Not  even  if  you 
were  mine,"  said  the  man,  half  impatient  with  him- 
self for  his  weakness  where  this  girl  was  concerned. 
"But  you  must  understand  that  even  you  cannot  be 
allowed  to  play  fast  and  loose  with  us.  That  is  for- 
bidden." 

' '  But  I  am  not  playing  fast  and  loose  with  you ;  or 
with  anybody." 

"That,"  said  the  baron,  patiently,  "is  what  must 
be  investigated.  In  the  meantime  if  you  see  things  in 
a  better  light,  you  may  communicate  with  me  at  this 
address."  He  gave  her  a  card,  with  a  telephone 
number  and  a  street  address  scribbled  on  it.  "I  am 
your  very  humble  and  obedient  servant,  Countess." 
Then  in  his  courtly  fashion  he  bowed  himself  out 
of  the  room,  just  as  Policeman  Kelly  was  leaving  the 
house.  Marya  Jadwiga  had  not  chosen  to  speak 
German;  the  baron  had  not  chosen  to  speak  Polish. 
They  had  compromised  on  French;  and  Policeman 
Kelly  could  not  help  hearing  "telephone  or  write 
me  at  this  address,"  nor  that  "your  very  humble 
and  obedient  servant,  Countess." 

Countess!  That  little  girl!  And  this  fellow  was 
a  German  baron.  Titles  were  flying  thickly  around 
Charlton  Street,  and  Policeman  Kelly  did  not  half 
like  them. 


HOW  TO  TIP  A  POLICEMAN  313 

Brian  walked  down  the  street  in  a  doubtful  frame 
of  mind.  He  had  not  reached  the  corner  when  the 
baron,  with  long  strides,  overtook  him.  He  knew  ex- 
actly what  degree  of  friendliness  to  bestow  upon  the 
policeman,  did  the  baron.  The  policeman  preferred 
to  look  wooden,  and  to  be  noncommittal. 

They  turned  the  corner;  the  quietness  of  Charl- 
ton  Street  vanished  as  though  it  were  not.  They 
seemed  to  emerge  into  another  city,  so  great  was 
the  difference  a  block  and  around  a  corner  made. 
The  policeman's  demeanor  insensibly  changed,  be- 
came informed  with  alertness  and  calm  authority. 
The  baron  admired  him  almost  too  openly. 

"They  make  you  fellows  pretty  big,  over  here," 
he  approved.  ' '  You  're  more  nervous  than  our  chaps, 
though,  I  've  observed." 

"We  think  more  for  ourselves,  I  imagine.  Less 
discipline,  but  more  initiative,  perhaps." 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  other,  tolerantly.  "And 
you  're  certainly  more  quixotic !  Oh,  decidedly !  For 
instance,  consider  the  American  attitude  toward 
charming  young  ladies.  One  sees  nothing  like  it 
abroad.  I  gather  that  in  your  democratic  and  gal- 
lant country  pretty  young  ladies  are  allowed  to  suffer 
only  the  slightest  inconvenience  when  they  summarily 
dispose  of  gentlemen  who  annoy  them.  I  am  told 
that  the  public  approves  them,  the  jury  acquits  them, 
the  Church  receives  them,  and  the  moving  pictures 
exploit  them.  Wonderful!" 

"Astonishing  indeed!"  said  Brian,  dryly.  And 
on  behalf  of  himself  and  his  quixotic  countrymen 


314  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

Officer  Kelly  bowed.  That  easy  bow  rather  aston- 
ished the  German.  In  his  country  a  policeman  would 
not  have  dreamed  of  bowing  as  to  an  equal!  The 
baron  was  amused,  it  was  so  American!  He  said 
pleasantly : 

"I  wish  I  had  you  in  charge  of  one  of  my  estates, 
Mr.  Kelly.  I  've  a  sullen  and  lawless  mob  of 
peasants  who  give  me  no  end  of  trouble.  It  would 
be  quite  delightful  to  see  them  handled  by  a  New 
York  policeman.  You  seem  to  have  the  knack  of 
handling  people,  here.  And  now  would  you  be  so 
kind  as  to  summon  a  taxi?  I  have  an  appoint- 
ment, and  must  hurry." 

Brian  looked  into  the  maelstrom  of  traffic  plung- 
ing up  and  down  Seventh  Avenue,  made  a  sign,  and 
a  car  stopped  at  the  curb.  A  respectful  driver 
held  the  door  open,  and  as  the  baron  stepped  in  he 
lifted  his  hat  with  a  courteous  ' '  Thank  you,  Officer ! ' ' 
and  Brian  felt  something  thrust  into  his  hand.  It 
was  a  five-dollar  bill. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  run  after  the  departing 
taxi,  jump  in,  and  punch  the  noble  baron's  nose. 
His  next  was  to  swear;  and  this  desire  he  indulged. 
And  then  he  laughed,  which  was  the  most  sensible 
thing  he  could  have  done  in  the  circumstances. 

"Now  is  this  the  reward  of  virtue  or  the  incentive 
to  vice?"  he  wondered.  "Am  I  tipped  or  bribed? 
And  is  it  not  written  that  it  is  lawful  to  despoil  the 
Philistines?  And  how  may  I  best  use  this  largesse 
to  get  even  with  that  son  of  Belial?" 

He  pocketed  his  tip — if  not  with  gratitude,  at  least 


HOW  TO  TIP  A  POLICEMAN  315 

with  a  serene  conscience.  That  night  he  went  home 
to  Charlton  Street  with  a  bundle  carefully  wrapped 
in  tissue  paper,  which  he  presented  to  Marya  Jad- 
wiga ;  who  opened  it  and  hugged  to  her  heart  a  bunch 
of  exquisite  little  whitey-pink  sweetheart  roses.  He 
had  surmised  that  she  had  not  enjoyed  the  visit  of  the 
Junker ;  and  he  applied  the  balm  of  flowers.  When  he 
saw  her  rapturous  eyes,  the  quick  glow  that  leaped  to 
her  face,  the  expression  of  gratitude  and  relief,  he 
felt  that  he  was  really  more  than  even  with  the  Baron 
von  Eittenheim. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  DOVE  HENPECKS  AN  EAGLE 

MLSS  HONORA  KELLY  was  not  so  frequent 
a  visitor  at  the  house  in  Charlton  Street  as 
she  would  have  liked  to  be.  She  went 
there  as  often  as  her  conscience  allowed  her;  for 
though  she  adored  Brian,  she  was  loyal  to  Dominick. 

To-day  she  had  appeared,  been  welcomed  by  Mary 
Callaghan,  and  told  that  Brian  was  upstairs  "chang- 
ing his  collar  against  he  goes  out  again."  Then 
Brian  came  running  downstairs  and  caught  her  and 
kissed  her,  mussing  her  joyously. 

"I  was  hoping  and  praying  you  'd  come,  Aunt 
Hon,"  he  told  her,  kissing  her  again.  And  he  whis- 
pered in  her  ear:  "If  you  hadn't  shown  up,  I  was 
going  to  write  you  to-night.  I  'm  going  to  need  you 
pretty  soon,  Aunt  Hon." 

Before  he  could  explain  himself  further,  a  very 
little,  slim  girl  came  down  the  stairs,  a  bunch  of  airy 
sewing  over  her  arm.  At  sound  of  that  light  footfall 
Brian  looked  up ;  and  the  girl  paused,  looking  down 
at  him  and  Miss  Honora. 

"How  foreign  the  little  thing  is — and  oh,  how 
lovely!"  thought  Miss  Honora,  swiftly.  And  then 
she  glanced  at  Brian,  and  saw  his  eyes  upon  the  girl 

316 


A  DOVE  HENPECKS  AN  EAGLE   317 

as  she,  who  had  loved  Brian's  eyes  since  they  opened 
on  the  world,  had  never  seen  them  look  at  any  one. 
His  youth,  his  manhood,  his  heart,  his  hope,  were  in 
that  shining  glance. 

He  had  been  her  man  child,  the  darling  of  her  life. 
She  had  taken  his  mother 's  place ;  for  years  she  had 
been  all  to  him,  adoring,  admiring,  as  the  big,  beauti- 
ful, spoiled  boy  grew  into  the  big,  beautiful,  spoiled 
young  man.  She  had  been  the  fierce  champion  of  his 
cause  when  the  split  came  with  Dominick.  And  now 
Brian  was  in  love  with  a  strange  girl !  Miss  Honors 
felt  a  pang  not  easy  to  be  borne,  the  pang  that  even 
the  most  unselfish  and  loving  mother  must  en- 
dure when  the  woman  appears  who  takes  her  son. 

"A  man,"  say  the  Irish,  "loves  his  sweetheart  the 
most,  his  wife  the  best,  but  his  mother  the  longest." 
But  the  mothers  pay ! 

Miss  Honora  narrowed  her  old  dove's  eyes,  and 
tried  to  look  at  Brian's  sweetheart  critically.  But 
the  sea-green  eyes  looked  back  at  her  so  appealingly 
that  she  could  not  be  critical.  The  sweet  old  maid, 
who  was  Motherhood  itself,  found  herself  drawn  to 
the  girl;  the  pang  of  jealousy  left  her  as  suddenly 
as  it  had  come:  she  was  too  unselfish  to  encourage 
it  to  stay,  and  she  was  not  exacting  in  her  affections. 
Miss  Honora  could  keep  love  because  she  was  willing 
to  allow  it  to  go  from  her. 

Marya  Jadwiga  had  seen  that  momentary  narrow- 
ing of  the  eyes,  and  she  approached  Brian's  aunt 
timidly.  It  was  the  first  time  Miss  Honora  had 
ever  alarmed  anybody,  and  it  did  not  last  long.  She 


318  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

held  out  her  hand  with  her  own  cordial,  friendly 
smile,  and  won  the  girl  to  her  instantly. 

She  had  a  deep  sense  of  gratitude  that  Marya  Jad- 
vviga  was  so  lovely,  possessed  a  charm  that  grew  upon 
one.  But,  then,  Brian  had  always  been  fastidious 
about  women,  she  reflected.  And  this  girl  was  exqui- 
site. Miss  Honora  did  not  know  that  it  had  taken 
the  Zuleski  family  several  centuries  to  produce  this 
last  flower  of  the  race;  but  within  an  hour  she  did 
know  that  Brian's  sweetheart  was  a  miracle.  Miss 
Honora  capitulated,  went  over  horse  and  foot,  bag, 
and  baggage. 

"And  Dominick  would  have  forced  our  Brian  to 
take  poor  Janet  Van  Wyck,"  she  thought  commis- 
eratingly,  "when  a  girl  like  this  was  growing  up  for 
him!" 

She  had  heard  the  story  of  the  finding  of  Marya 
Jadwiga,  and  such  other  scraps  of  information  as 
Mary  Callaghan  had.  Also,  what  a  darling  the  child 
was,  and  how  they  all  adored  her,  and  how  Colette 
was  teaching  her  her  own  art  of  designing,  at  which 
she  was  proving  herself  astonishingly  clever ;  so  clever 
that  she  would  soon  be  making  a  fine  living  for  her- 
self— if  somebody  did  not  marry  her  out  of  hand! 
And  how  she  insisted  on  paying  her  bit  for  board, 
being  that  proud  and  independent,  though  she  ate  no 
more  than  a  bird,  and  took  up  no  more  room  than  a 
oaby — and  the  house  the  better  and  happier  from  the 
day  of  her  coming  into  it.  Mary  Callaghan  was  a 
partizan  person  altogether. 

Miss  Honora  felt  that  Divine  Providence  had  taken 


A  DOVE  HENPECKS  AN  EAGLE   319 

a  hand  in  the  case,  and  brought  Marya  Jadwiga  to 
Charlton  Street  and  Brian.  That  Brian  loved  her, 
that  she  loved  Brian,  that  these  two,  born  the  whole 
wide  world  apart,  were  made  for  each  other  and  had 
found  each  other,  was  very  plain  to  Miss  Honora. 
She  was  a  gently  romantic  soul,  and  to  find  herself 
in  the  presence  of  young  love  thrilled  her.  These 
two  should  have  each  other !  She  made  up  her  mind 
to  that.  Having  reached  that  conclusion,  she  also 
made  up  her  mind  that  Dominick  must  be  made  to 
see  things  in  the  right  light.  Dominick  quarreling 
with  Brian  and  letting  him  go  his  own  way  was  bad 
enough  but  not  incurable;  but  Dominick  ignoring 
Brian  married,  and  married  to  this  girl,  who,  of  all 
the  girls  she  had  ever  seen  seemed  to  her  the  one 
only  girl  for  him,  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  It  was 
past  all  bearing:  it  outdominicked  Dominick.  That 
a  single  young  man  should  be  allowed  to  earn  his  liv- 
ing and  discover  himself,  is  good  and  right  and  just. 
But  Brian  Kelly,  son  of  Dominick,  married  to  a 
charming  wife,  and  compelled  to  struggle  for  exist- 
ence on  a  meager  salary,  while  his  father  piled  up 
millions  for  God  knows  whom  or  what,  was  enough  to 
rouse  the  wrath  of  Heaven,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
anger  of  a  poor  sinner  like  herself. 

Brian  had  said  to  her,  sitting  with  his  arm  around 
her  shoulder : 

"Aunt  Hon,  I  want  you  to  know.  This  girl  's  my 
girl.  There  '11  never  be  anybody  else.  She  's  mine, 
just  as  I  'm  hers.  She  knows.  She  feels  the  same 
way.  But  she  says  she  can't  marry  me  or  anybody 


320  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

else,  now,  because  her  father's  death  has  tangled  all 
her  affairs.  That  's  all  I  can  get  out  of  her  yet.  She 
can't  marry  me,  but  she  '11  never  marry  anybody 
else.  And  I  can't  marry  her  now,  either,  situated 
as  I  am.  It  wouldn't  be  fair,  would  it?  So  there 
we  are ! ' ' 

"No,"  admitted  his  aunt;  "I  suppose  you  can't. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  'm  trying  to  think  it  out.  You 
see,  Aunt  Hon,  I  like  my  job.  Of  course  many  of 
the  complaints  brought  against  the  police  are  just, 
but,  take  them  by  and  large,  the  boys  are  pretty 
decent.  I  've  really  developed  brains  since  I  've  had 
this  job."  He  paused,  patted  her  hand,  and  said 
modestly:  "I  'm  acquiring  a  sixth  sense,  a  sort  of 
instinct  which  lets  me  know  when  a  man  isn't 
straight,  and  when  he  is.  I  've  been  doing  a  little 
work  on  my  own,  lately,  following  along  lines  I  'd 
thought  out  for  myself.  Well,  the  work  's  panned  out 
very  fair.  Anyhow,  I  Ve  promised  the  commissioner 
I  '11  stick  for  a  while.  He  thinks  I  should  go  into 
the  Secret  Service,  later  on.  However,  that  's  up  in 
the  air  as  yet.  Whatever  I  can  or  can't  do  later 
the  present  fact  is  that  I  can't  marry  on  the  salary 
I  'm  getting,  and  with  things  as  they  are. ' ' 

"No,"  she  said  soberly;  "I  suppose  you  can't; 
though  your  father  married  your  mother  when  he 
hadn't  as  much  as  you  have  now." 

"He  had  assets  I  don't  possess,"  said  Brian,  smil- 
ing. ' '  Genius.  A  different  line  of  business.  And  a 


A  DOVE  HENPECKS  AN  EAGLE   321 

world  that  wasn't  doing  its  damnedest  to  blow  itself 
up." 

"I  don't  see  that  he  's  gotten  much  happiness  out 
of  his  genius,  and  he  's  allowed  his  business  to  hag- 
ride  him,"  said  his  sister,  tartly.  ''And  God  never 
allows  the  world  to  blow  itself  up ! " 

She  had  never  been  afraid  of  her  redoubtable 
brother.  In  the  first  place,  she  loved  him;  and  as 
much  as  a  woman  of  her  type  can  ever  understand  a 
man  of  his  she  understood  him;  at  least  she  under- 
stood his  moods  and  what  they  portended.  She  had 
the  fearsome  courage  of  the  meek,  and  could  face  the 
old  buccaneer  without  flinching.  For  one  thing,  she 
never  lost  her  temper;  for  another,  whenever  she 
had  to  take  issue  with  Dominick,  she  spoke  in  the 
voice  of  his  conscience,  and  he  knew  it,  and  she  knew 
he  knew  it.  In  his  heart  he  was  always  a  litttle  afraid 
of  her :  she  was,  as  he  complained  bitterly, ' '  always  so 
dam 'right!" 

She  had  not  quarreled  with  him  when  Brian  left 
the  house,  although  she  had  told  him  to  his  teeth  he 
was  acting  unwisely.  For,  as  she  had  warned  him, 
Brian  had  not  come  back.  And  the  bitter  conviction 
was  growing  upon  the  hard-headed,  high-hearted, 
passionate  old  man  that  the  boy  was  not  coming 
back.  Well,  then,  let  him  stay  where  he  'd  put  him- 
self and  bedamned  to  him !  Dominick  'd  die  before 
he  'd  stretch  a  finger  to  recall  the  ungrateful  pup ! 
He  'd  show  him ! 

But  his  sonless  days  were  sunless  days.     He  was 


322  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

more  silent,  more  immersed  in  business  than  ever ;  and 
more  powerful.  Doors  long  closed  to  him,  or  opened 
only  half-way — and  grudgingly  at  that — were  now 
being  flung  wide  open,  if  he  cared  to  enter.  Curi- 
ously, he  no  longer  cared!  The  game  did  not  seem 
worth  the  candle.  And  he  had  developed  a  singular 
aversion  to  Miss  'Janet  Van  Wyck.  It  was  inex- 
plicable that  he  should  entertain  such  animosity 
toward  that  excellent  and  much  grandfathered,  cou- 
sined,  and  familied  woman,  whom  he  had  on  a  time 
been  so  anxious  to  gather  into  the  Kelly  fold.  But 
man  is  a  perverse  animal.  And  though  the  lady 
smiled  upon  Dominick  as  she  had  never  smiled  upon 
Brian, — whenever  she  got  the  opportunity, — these 
smiles  aroused  no  pleasurable  emotion  in  his  breast. 
They  caused,  instead,  a  sinking  feeling  in  the  pit  of 
his  stomach.  This  was  unfair.  It  was  not  Miss  Van 
"Wyck's  fault  that  he  had  wished  Brian  to  marry  her. 
Yet  he  discovered  in  himself  a  harsh  repulsion  for 
this  innocent  lady,  as  though  the  blame  for  his 
quarrel  with  his  son  rested  altogether  with  her,  and 
not  with  himself. 

Dominick  came  home  one  evening  to  find  his  sister 
waiting  for  him  in  the  library,  a  room  she  seldom 
entered,  and  then  only  for  diplomatic  conferences. 
He  looked  at  her  with  some  impatience.  Dominick 
was  up  to  the  ears  just  then;  he  was  one  of  those 
who  knew  what  was  coming,  and  what  must  be  done, 
and  he  had  started  in  to  do  it.  This  called  for  vast  or- 
ganization, and  he  was  in  his  element,  moving  like  a 
natural  law.  But  he  worked  grimly  and  without 


A  DOVE  HENPECKS  AN  EAGLE   323 

joy,  a  colossus  out  of  which,  the  heart  had  been 
wrenched. 

"Anything  special?"  he  flung  at  his  sister.  "Be- 
cause I  'm  extremely  busy  just  now,  Honora. 
Business — " 

She  held  up  a  dissenting  hand. 

"Business  is  not  the  be-all  and  end-all  of  life, 
Dominick,  although  you  are  trying  to  make  yourself 
believe  it  is.  There  are  other  things  very  much  more 
important. ' ' 

"Are  there,  now?  What  's  one  of  them?"  impa- 
tiently. 

"Brian,"  said  she,  looking  him  steadily  in  his 
smoldering  eyes. 

She  had  attacked  him  so  unexpectedly  that  he 
could  not  save  himself  from  betraying  the  agony 
that  was  gnawing  him  ceaselessly.  A  spasm  quivered 
across  his  face.  It  hurt  his  sister  to  see  him  thus 
hurt,  but  she  held  firm.  He  needed  the  lesson  of  be- 
ing hurt.  He  caught  his  breath  with  something  be- 
tween a  groan  and  a  snarl. 

"If  'twas  anybody  but  you,  Honora  Kelly,  that 
had  the  impudence  to  name  that  thankless  whelp,  the 
ungrateful  puppy  that  ran  against  the  will  of  his 
own  father  that  'd  slaved  and  planned  for  him,  that  'd 
done  what  I  'd  done  for  him — " 

"Well,  as  nobody  but  me  is  interested  enough  in 
either  of  you  to  mention  him  to  you,  Dominick, — 
and  I  understand  the  whole  situation, — we  won't  go 
into  that,"  Miss  Honora  cut  in  crisply,  sweeping  the 
ground  from  under  his  feet.  "What  I  want  to  talk 


324  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

about  is  n  't  what  you  've  done  for  him  in  the  past 
but  what  you  aren't  doing  for  him  now — and  you 
his  own  father!  I  wonder  his  mother  doesn't  turn 
in  her  grave,  poor  thing!" 

"It  's  not  his  fault  I  'm  not  turning  in  me  own!" 
he  shouted. 

''Or  yours  that  he  isn't  lying  in  his,  what  with 
the  dangers  he  's  exposed  to  every  day  and  night  of 
his  life ! ' '  she  came  back,  severely. 

"They  're  as  safe  as  any  of  us,  the  police,"  he 
growled.  "They  take  dam'  good  care  of  their 
own  red  hides,  Miss  Kelly,  ma'am!"  And  slitting 
his  eyes  and  doubling  his  fists,  he  burst  out: 

"A  policeman! — my  son!  Faith,  't  was  kind  of 
him  not  to  be  a  bus  conductor  on  th'  Avenue,  or  a 
white  wings ;  now,  was  n't  it  ?  A  policeman !  A  dam', 
flat-footed,  peanut-eatin ',  bull-necked,  lazy  scutt  of  a 
graftin'  cop!  My  son!  Dominick  Kelly's  son,  be- 
god !  Pickin'  an  apple  maybe,  or  a  fistful  of  peanuts 
from  the  Eyetalian  fruit  stand,  an'  grinnin'  at  every 
little  hussy  that  '11  take  the  trouble  to  flirt  with  him. 
Sure,  I  'm  thinking  if  his  mother  hasn't  turned  in 
her  grave, — as  you  Ve  given  her  kindly  leave  to, 
Ma'am, — it  's  time  for  her  to  do  it,  God  rest  her 
soul !  She  has  cause  to !  D '  ye  think  I  've  not  known 
all  along  what  he 's  been  doing,  woman  ? '  * 

"I  am  quite  sure  you  don't  in  the  least  know  or 
understand  what  he  's  been  doing,  Brother.  Making 
a  man  of  himself — a  better  and  nobler  man  than  you 
ever  could  have  made  of  him,  Dominick,  if  he  hadn't 
freed  himself  of  your  tyranny — for  you  are  a  ty- 


A  DOVE  HENPECKS  AN  EAGLE   325 

rant,  my  poor  dear! — That  's  what  he  rs  been  doing. 
As  for  you,  you  are  talking  silly  nonsense,  and  you 
ought  to  be  heartily  ashamed  of  yourself." 

"Honora!"  he  roared,  purple-faced.  "Honora 
Kelly!" 

"Oh,  behave  yourself!"  flashed  Miss  Honora,  dis- 
gustedly. ''You  make  it  well-nigh  impossible  for  a 
self-respecting  person  to  have  any  intelligent  human 
intercourse  with  you,  Dominick." 

' '  Do  I,  ma  'am  ? "  he  looked  at  her  ominously.  ' '  Was 
I  askin'  or  expectin'  intelligent  human  intercourse 
with  you  this  night,  or  did  I  find  you  in  my  own 
library  waiting  to  waylay  me?  But  I  '11  not  stand 
it!  If  I  can't  come  home  to  me  own  -house  in  peace 
and  quietness,  I  '11  go  outside!"  He  started  for  the 
door,  waving  his  arms. 

"Domiwick!" 

Something  in  his  sister's  voice  gave  him  pause.  He 
turned,  and  faced  a  Miss  Honora  quite  new  to  him. 
For  once  in  her  life  Miss  Honora  was  roused  to  right- 
eous anger,  the  slow,  white-hot  anger  of  the  just.  She 
had  turned  pale,  except  for  two  red  spots  in  her 
cheeks,  and  her  eyes  were  diamond-bright. 

''Dominick!  If  you  dare  to  leave  this  room  re- 
fusing to  hear  what  I  have  to  say,  you  will  not  find 
me  in  your  house  when  you  return." 

She  never  threatened.  She  meant  what  she  said, 
and  he  knew  it.  He  stared  at  her,  aghast,  his  eyes 
stretching.  Honora  leave  'him?  Honora? 

"Are  you  trying  to  drive  me  wild  entirely?"  he 
demanded. 


326  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

' '  I  am  trying  to  prevent  you  from  doing  it  to  your- 
self, Brother.  That  is  why  you  have  simply  got  to 
listen  to  me." 

"Well,  am  I  not  listening,  for  God's  sake?"  he 
roared. 

"I  will  leave  your  house,"  pursued  the  dove,  peck- 
ing him  to  the  marrow,  "and  I  won't  return,  unless 
you  do  listen.  I  have  been  very  patient  with  your 
bullying  ways,  Dominick.  But  I  can't  retain  my 
self-respect  if  I  'm  not  allowed  to  speak  when  my 
reason  and  my  heart  bid  me  do  so.  You  think  so 
much  of  your  money,  your  power,  your  self-will,  that 
you  have  forced  almost  everybody  who  comes  into 
contact  with  you  to  bend  to  you — or  you  break  them. 
I  am  not  young  any  more,  Dominick;  you  are  my 
only  brother,  and  I  love  you.  But  I  want  my  remain- 
ing years  to  be  peaceful  years :  I  must  live  in  peace 
with  myself,  as  well  as  with  you.  And  I  tell  you 
frankly  I  would  rather  spend  those  last  years  in  a 
Home — with  the  Little  Sisters  of  the  Poor,  for  choice 
— than  spend  them  in  your  house,  under  the  condi- 
tions you  wish  to  impose  on  me." 

It  was  the  longest  and  the  severest  speech  she  had 
ever  addressed  to  him.  He  took  it  like  a  blow  in  the 
solar  plexus. 

"Honora  Kelly!  .  .  .  Always  .  .  .  good  brother. 
.  ,  .  Always  wanted  to  share  .  .  .  everything  I 
had.  .  .  .  Never  denied  any  of  them  anything.  .  .  . 
Never  counted  the  money  .  .  .  Ingratitude.  .  .  ." 
He  strangled,  almost  inarticulate. 

"You  were  good  to  us  so  long  as  we  never  crossed 


A  DOVE  HENPECKS  AN  EAGLE   327 

you,"  she  told  him.  "Just  so  long  as  we  did  exactly 
what  you  wanted  us  to  do,  you  were  good  to  us.  But 
you  have  loved  your  own  way  better  than  us.  The 
minute  your  own  child,  your  only  son,  showed  a 
spark  of  independence,  dared  to  choose  his  own  way 
in  life,  what  happened?  You  drove  him  out  like  a 
dog!  You  did!  You  did!  Do  you  call  that  being 
a  good  brother,  a  kind  father,  Dominick?" 

"What  is  it  you  want,  in  God's  name?"  he  asked, 
wiping  his  forehead. 

"I  want  you  to  sit  down  in  that  chair  and  listen 
to  me  like  a  Christian  while  I  tell  you  about  Brian 
Kelly — my  Brian,  your  Brian.  And  don't  pretend, 
Dominick,  that  you  hate  the  boy.  Don't  you  dare 
sit  there  and  pretend  to  my  face  that  you  no  longer 
love  my  nephew.  Because  if  you  do,"  said  Miss 
Honora,  contemptuously,  "I  shall  regard  you  as  a 
miserable  liar!" 

She  pointed  to  a  chair.  After  glaring  at  her, 
bristling  at  her,  all  but  gnashing  his  teeth  at  her,  he 
jerked  the  chair  forward,  plumped  himself  into  it, 
and  faced  her,  hands  on  knees,  chin  at  a  truculent 
angle. 

' '  Have  your  say  out ! "  he  said  furiously. 

* '  Oh,  Dominick ! ' '  exclaimed  Miss  Honora,  pleasedlyr 
' '  why  are  n  't  you  always  so  reasonable  ? ' ' 

Dominick  seemed  to  be  trying  to  swallow  something 
that  would  not  go  down.  Unable  for  the  moment  to 
speak,  he  made  a  helpless  gesture  of  the  hands.  His 
sister,  seating  herself  near  him,  looked  at  him  mildly 
enough ;  but  the  red  spots  stayed  in  her  cheeks. 


328  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

' '  I  wish  to  say  first,  that  your  opinion  as  to  the  sort 
of  police  officer  Brian  is,  is  altogether  erroneous," 
she  informed  him.  "He  is  a  very  capable  officer. 
Quite  as  efficient  an  officer  as  you  would  have  been 
yourself,  had  you  become  a  policeman  instead  of  a 
contractor  and  builder  and  banker."  She  ignored 
the  horrible  face  he  made  at  that  auspicious  preamble. 

He  lifted  a  shaggy  eyebrow  and  glowered.  He 
lifted  his  lip  and  sneered. 

' '  Faith,  he  's  looking  up  in  the  world,  my  son  is ! " 
he  put  in. 

"He  is  being  useful  and  independent  and  good  in 
the  world,  and  I  pray  on  my  knees  as  much  can  be 
said  for  you,  in  the  end,  Dominick, ' '  said  she,  sternly. 

"We  '11  admit  his  honesty  and  all  that,  Honora. 
Good  ?  Of  course  he  's  good !  He  's  got  to  be  good ! 
He  hasn't  sense  enough  to  be  anything  else!  So  far 
as  that  goes,  I  'm  not  afraid  he  '11  shame  us.  But 
'tis  hard  for  a  man  to  know  he  's  fathered  a  dam' 
fool !  'T  is  that  I  'm  ashamed  of ! " 

The  red  spots  deepened  in  her  cheeks. 

"Brian  is  too  just  and  too  generous  even  to  think 
that  the  shoe  might  be  on  the  other  foot,"  she  said; 
"~but  1  'm  not,  Dormnick.  I  'm  ashamed  of  you!  I 
feel  like  apologizing  for  you!  And — and  I  used  to 
be  proud  of  you!" 

Miss  Honora  almost  never  cried.  But  tears  of  pain 
and  anger  began  to  run  down  her  cheeks  now.  Dom- 
inick regarded  them  with  a  sort  of  stupefied  interest, 
as  if  he  were  witnessing  something  out  of  the  ordinary 
course  of  nature. 


A  DOVE  HENPECKS  AN  EAGLE   329 

"Stop  it!  Stop  it  at  once!"  he  shouted,  exasper- 
ated, feeling  that  she  was  taking  an  unfair  advantage, 
and  yet  that  he  was  guilty.  "You  said  you  wanted 
me  to  listen  like  a  Christian.  Will  you  stop  crying, 
and  see  if  you  can  talk  like  tme  ? ' ' 

* '  Oh,  Brother,  you  make  me  so  wretched !  You  're 
unjust  to  your  son,  you  're  unhappy,  and  you 
won't  give  yourself  the  chance  of  happiness  by  doing 
the  one  right  thing ! ' ' 

"Will  I  go  on  my  bended  knees  to  him,  Honora? 
Will  I  ask  him  will  he  please  come  home  when 
he  's  ready  to  notice  me  ? "  he  demanded.  ' '  Me  that  's 
slaved  for  him  since  he  was  born,  givin'  him  a 
prince's  raisin',  and  him  turnin'  up  his  nose  when  I 
no  more  than  asked  him  would  he  do  me  the  favor  of 
doin'  what  was  meant  for  his  own  good !  An'  walkin' 
out  of  my  house  without  so  much  as  a  bedamned  to 
me?" 

"All  this,"  said  she,  gently,  "is  the  brooding  of  a 
bitter  and  a  wounded  heart,  Brother.  And  it  does  n't 
get  you  anywhere,  does  it  ?  It  does  n't  bring  you  and 
your  one  son  together.  For  what,  for  whom  are  you 
working  yourself  to  death,  Dominickf" 

He  was  silent. 

"Oh,  Brother,  don't  be  so  blind!"  cried  Miss  Ho- 
nora. ' '  Heaven  gave  you  but  one  love  in  all  your  life 
— Molly,  poor  little  Molly,  dead  in  her  youth.  God 
gave  you  one  son — Molly's  son,  Dominick.  And 
you  've  driven  your  child  away  from  you !  How  are 
you  going  to  explain  to  his  mother?" 

He  was  silent. 


330  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"While  you  're  forcing  yourself  to  do  without  him, 
you  're  forcing  him  to  learn  to  do  without  you, "'she 
continued.  "Dominick,  can't  you  see  the  folly  of  it? 
If  you  could  just  see  him  as  he  is  now,  so  fine,  so 
thoughtful,  so  capable,  so  independent!  A  man's 
man!  He's  learned  to  do  without  your  money; 
he  '11  never  depend  on  that  again,  thank  God !  But 
don't  let  him  learn  to  do  without  you,  Dominick. 
It  isn't  right  that  you  should  learn  to  do  without 
each  other.  And  it  's  all  your  fault,  my  poor  dear ! 
it  's  all  your  fault!" 

"It  didn't  take  him  long  to  learn  to  do  without 
me, ' '  said  he,  with  the  rancorous  jealousy  of  wounded 
affection. 

' '  I  'm  afraid  it  does  n  't  take  anybody  long  to  learn 
to  do  without  what  they  have  to  do  without,"  she 
reminded  him.  "That  's  one  of  the  wise  laws  of 
nature,  I  suppose.  We  're  always  punished  when  we 
break  a  natural  law,  remember.  But — one  need  n't 
go  on  breaking  the  law,"  she  added,  with  meaning. 

"Was  he  whinin'  to  you  when  you  saw  him  at  the' 
Callaghans'?"  he  asked,  contemptuously.  "Oh,  yes, 
I  know  all  about  it,  Honora!  Did  you  think  I 
didn't?" 

"No,  he  didn't  whine  to  me.  He  isn't  that  sort. 
Besides,  there  's  no  occasion  for  him  to  whine.  He  's 
too  busy  and  too — happy.  He  is  an  unusually 
handsome  young  man,  Brian  is,"  she  went  on, 
musingly,  "and  so  of  course  it  is  but  natural  that 
he  should  fall  in  love — and  that  he  should  be  loved  in 
return. ' ' 


A  DOVE  HENPECKS  AN  EAGLE   331 

He  started,  and  then  sat  rigid  in  his  chair. 

''I  have  spoken  to  you  quite  of  my  own  accord," 
Miss  Honora  continued.  "After  all,  you  're  his 
father;  and  it  's  only  right  that  you  should  know 
that  the  girl  Brian  loves  is  in  every  way  worthy  of 
him.  A  sweeter  little  creature  I  've  never  seen. 
Why,  you  'd  fall  in  love  with  her  yourself,  Dominick, 
if  you  could  see  her!" 

"Me?  me  fall  in  love  with  a  girl  that  'd  fall  in  love 
with  a  policeman?"  he  barked.  "I  hope  you  '11  make 
it  plain  to  her  she  needn't  expect  anything  from 
me.  I  '11  have  nothing  to  do  with  her.  Nothing." 

"Expect  anything  from  you?  She  doesn't  even 
know  you  exist,  my  dear!"  his  sister  stung  him. 
"I'm  telling  you  all  this  because  I  'm  trying  to  give 
you  a  chance  to  come  to  your  senses  before  it  's  too 
late.  And  if  it  is  any  satisfaction  to  you  to  know  that 
Brian  can't  marry  now,  because  he  has  only  a  modest 
salary  to  offer  his  sweetheart,  why,  you  can  have  it, 
Dominick,  if  you  're  contemptible  enough  to  be  glad. ' ' 

"When  does  he  think  of  marryin'  this  girl  he  's 
picked  up?" 

"He  's  making  no  plans  for  himself  as  yet.  But 
he  knows  he  '11  marry  this  girl  and  no  other.  He 
says  it  's  inevitable." 

His  father  grunted. 

"I  always  told  you  he  was  a  dam'  fool."  And 
then:  "And  she  's  another,  you  say?" 

"Well,  if  one  's  a  fool  to  love,  she  's  a  fool  too, 
Dominick.  A  heavenly  fool!  But  her  father's  re- 
cent death — he  died  since  she  came  to  this  country 


332  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

— naturally  unsettles  her  affairs.  And  her  grand- 
father, who  came  over  with  her,  was  killed  by  an 
automobile.  The  poor  child — " 

He  interrupted  her  rudely: 

"What  d'ye  mean,  since  she  cflme  to  this  country? 
What  is  she?  A  wop,  maybe?  Or  a  Russian  Jew, 
forbye?" 

"Marya  Jadwiga  is  a  Pole." 

Dominick  gave  a  hoarse  cackle. 

"He  wouldn't  look  at  Janet  Van  Wyck.  But  he 
finds  him  a  hussy  of  a  Pole!  Say  no  more  to  me, 
Honora!  Let  him  hang  himself  on  his  Pole!" 

"It  occurs  to  me,  Dominick,  that  you  are  losing 
the  opportunity  of  acquiring  Miss  Van  Wyck  for  our 
family  through  your  own  carelessness,"  pecked  the 
dove,  with  malice  prepense.  "Indeed  I'm  sure 
she  'd  far  rather  marry  you  than  Brian.  Why  don't 
you  marry  her  yourself?" 

"At  my  age?"  he  bawled. 

"Certainly  at  your  age.  It  should  be  easier  for 
a  man  of  your  age  to  love  Miss  Van  Wyck  than  for 
one  of  Brian's  age  even  to  like  her."  The  women 
saints  and  holy  virgins  retain  a  savitng  amount  of 
felinity.  Dominick  had  a  sense  that  his  nose  was  be- 
ing scratched.  He  gulped  out  a  ' '  Thank  you  kindly, 
ma  'am ! ' ' 

"As  if  any  young  man  in  his  sane  senses  would 
look  at  poor  Janet,  once  he  'd  seen  little  Marya 
Jadwiga!"  pursued  Miss  Honora. 

"They  'd  be  lookin'  at  the  girl  for  wonder  in'  at 


A  DOVE  HENPECKS  AN  EAGLE   333 

the  heathen  name  of  her,"  surmised  Dominick,  pleas- 
antly. "Mary a  Jadwiga!"  He  pronounced  it  bar- 
barously, and  writhed  his  lips,  as  though  it  had  a 
bad  taste. 

"It  was  a  queen's  name,"  Miss  Honora  remem- 
bered. "Our  dear  mother's  was  Brigit.  That  was 
a  great  saint's  name.  But  I  think  I  like  the  queen's 
name  quite  as  well." 

"You  can  have  this  much  along  with  your 
likin's:  I'll  not  meddle  for  nor  against.  He  can 
marry  who  he  pleases — a  fine,  independent  lad  like 
him,  with  a  grand  job  on  the  force."  He  got  up, 
heavily.  "Afcid  now,  if  you  '11  excuse  me,  Honora  f 
I  'm  expecting  some  men  here  to-night;  and  I 
have  n  't  had  anything  to  eat  since  noon.  Have  some- 
thing sent  in  here  for  me,  will  you  ?  And — you  've 
said  all  you  want  to  say?" 

"I  '11  have  something  to  eat  sent  in  here  for  you. 
And — I  have  said  my  say.  I  've  but  one  thing  to 
add — that  I  pray  God  to  take  away  a  heart  of  stone, 
poor  Dominick,  and  give  you  a  heart  of  flesh."  And, 
casting  upon  him  a  compassionate  and  sorrowful 
glance,  she  left  him. 

He  slumped  in  his  chair,  his  head  sunk  upon  his 
breast. 

"Never  gives  me  a  thought.  Glad  to  get  away 
from  me,"  he  muttered.  "Me  breakin'  my  id  jit  of 
a  heart  over  him — devil  take  him! — and  him  galli- 
vantin'  around  with  a  little  ninny  I  've  never  so 
much  as  set  eyes  on."  He  got  up,  ajnd  began  to  walk 


334  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

restlessly  up  and  down,  his  hands  behind  his  back. 
"Now  I  ask  you,"  he  addressed  space,  ''if  there  's 
anything  can  plague  a  man  equal  to  his  own  family? 
Eyah !  Them  that  's  nearest  you  can  torment  you 
worse  nor  hell!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

JOHN   CHRYSOSTOM   INTERVENES 

THE  Callaghan  boy  who  was  going  to  be  a 
priest  by  and  by,  liked  the  little  Polish  girl 
with  all  his  kindly  heart;  and  she,  in  turn, 
felt  for  him  something  of  his  mother's  tender  rever- 
ence. Heaven  and  earth  had  balanced  themselves 
with  nicest  delicacy  in  John  Callaghan ;  for  his  soul  of 
a  saint  was  incarnate  in  the  body  of  an  athlete.  As 
often  happens  with  the  Irish,  his  gay  common  sense 
went  side  by  side  with  a  shy  mysticism.  He  had  a 
sense  of  fun,  an  unappeasable  hunger  and  thirst 
after  knowledge,  a  controlled  temper,  real  charity,  and 
an  intuition  so  sure  that  he  knew  things  without 
having  to  be  told.  John  Chrysostom  Callaghan:  he 
had  been  wisely  named ! 

As  clearly  as  though  he  heard  her  soul  crying 
out,  "All  thy  waves  and  thy  billows  are  gone  over 
me,"  he  knew  that  Marya  Jadwiga  was  in  deep  wa- 
ters. No  light  trouble  brought  that  look  of  terror  to 
her  eyes,  |no  ordinary  grief  haunted  her.  He  knew 
she  had  had  a  cruel  experience,  and  that  death  had 
robbed  her  of  the  only  creature  near  to  her ;  but  those 
troubles,  cruel  as  they  were,  were  past;  and  this, 
John  sensed  was  present  and  now.  He  watched 

335 


336  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

her  keenly;  saw  her  struggle  to  wear  a  brave  and 
serene  face,  and  her  effort  to  show  her  gratitude  to 
his  mother  and  Colette;  saw,  too,  that  when  she 
thought  herself  unwatched,  the  hunted  look  came 
back  to  her  eyes,  her  small  hands  clenched  together. 
In  his  quiet  way  he  tried  to  help  her;  he  liked  to 
talk  to  her ;  for  he,  more  than  any  of  the  Callaghans, 
appreciated  the  rarely  trained  mind,  the  wide  culture. 
Somebody,  gome  superb  teacher,  had  been  at  pains 
here.  A  scholar  himself,  John  recognized  the  handi- 
work of  a  great  scholar.  Her  unconsciousness  of  her 
own  charm,  of  her  own  superiority,  heightened  his 
liking  for  her.  He  felt  when  he  talked  with  her, 
when  he  looked  at  her,  as  though  he  were  looking 
through  crystal.  She  was  so  transparently  truthful, 
simple,  sincere.  And  yet — there  was  something 
wrong.  He  knew  it  as  surely  as-  though  she  had  ad- 
mitted it,  and  his  heart  ached  for  her. 

He  had  learned  from  his  mother  of  the  Baron  von 
Eittenheim's  visit.  Marya  Jadwiga  had  not  at- 
tempted to  conceal  the  baron 's  name  or  title ;  she  was 
sick  of  concealment,  as  it  was;  the  very  shadow  of 
deceit  chafed  her  unbearably.  John  pondered  the 
baron's  visit,  even  as  Brian  Kelly  pondered  it.  Was 
this  German  one  of  the  causes  of  her  fear?  If  so, 
why?  And  what  was  he,  John  Callaghan,  going  to 
do  about  it? 

This  afternoon  as  he  came  down  from  his  room 
next  to  Brian's,  Marya  Jadwiga  happened  to  be 
coming  upstairs  to  hers,  on  the  floor  beneath.  The 
turn  of  the  attic  stair  hid  him  from  her.  She  had 


paused,  her  hands  at  her  breast,  her  face  contracted. 

"0  my  God!"  she  whispered,  "what  shall  I  do? 
what  shall  I  do?  I — I  can't  bear  this  much  longer! 
O  God,  help  me!  help  me!  help  me!"  There  was 
such  an  intensity  of  suffering,  such  dread  in  her 
voice,  in  her  looks,  that  John  was  horrified,  as  though 
he  witnessed  some  one  being  secretly  tortured. 

When  she  went  into  her  room  he  stood  for  some 
moments  pondering.  Colette  had  not  yet  come  home ; 
his  mother  was  busy  in  the  kitchen.  After  a  further 
pause  of  hesitation,  Uohn  tapped  at  her  door. 

"May  I  speak  with  you,  please?"  he  asked,  in  his 
gentle  voice.  "Don't  say  no!  You  can  send  me 
away  in  short  order,  I  promise,  if  you  find  me — in- 
trusive." 

She  tried  to  smile  a  welcome,  and  stepped  aside; 
and  he  entered  the  room  and  seated  himself.  The 
awnings  were  down,  and  through  the  sheer  white 
curtains  one  caught  sight  of  the  gay  flowers  in  the 
window  boxes.  Colette  made  room  for  flowers  every- 
where, and  they  gave  the  modest  place  a  charming 
touch. 

"Miss  Fabre,"  said  John,  directly,  "I  am  sure 
you  are  in  some  trouble,  that  something  frightens 
you.  I  know  you  have  passed  through  a  very  pain- 
ful, even  a  terrible  experience,  but  that  is  past,  you 
are  safe  here — and  still  you  seem  to  be  troubled. 
Deeply  troubled.  Am  I  right?" 

She  looked  at  the  calm,  quiet  young  man  dazedly 
— a  tall  boy  with  a  sensitive,  strong  face,  dark  gray 
eyes  beautifully  clear,  and  brown  hair  swept  back 


338  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

from  a  candid  forehead.  Although  he  was  athletic 
and  manly,  he  had  an  indefinable  air  of  priestli- 
ness,  of  purity.  It  was  very  easy  to  trust  John 
Callaghan. 

"Yes,"  she  admitted,  "you  are  right.  I  am  in 
trouble;  in  very  terrible  trouble." 

"Suppose  you  tell  me  about  it,"  he  suggested. 

"Like — like  confession?"  she  faltered.  "Wences- 
laus  always  said  we  were  Catholics,  but  I  have  never 
been  to  confession." 

He  smiled. 

"But  I  am  not  yet  ordained,  dear  Miss  Fabre.  I 
could  n  't  hear  your  confession.  "What  I  can  do,  what 
I  want  to  do  is  to  let  you  talk  to  me  as  a  friend. 
It  would  be  quite  as  inviolate  as  if  I  heard  it  in  the 
confessional. ' ' 

"I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  she.  "Oh,  if  I  dared! 
If  only  I  could  tell  you!  But — I  am  afraid.  It 
is  a  very  grave  matter.  Mr.  Callaghan,  I  am  under 
oath.  If — if  what  an  oath  tries  to  force  you  to  do 
is  against  your  conscience,  must  you  fulfil  it?  Must 
you?" 

"You  don't  wish  to  cany  out  the  terms  of  this 
oath?" 

"I  would  rather  die  a  thousand  deaths!" 

"Because  it  is  against  your  conscience?" 

"Yes,  oh  yes!  I — I  carried  out — a  part.  And  I 
— I  wake  up  in  the  night  terrified  at  what  may 
result.  I — I  had  to — obey;  obey  without  thought  of 
myself.  I  don't  think  of  myself.  But  when  I  took 
that  oath,  when  I  made  the  promise,  I  didn't  know, 


JOHN  CHRYSOSTOM  INTERVENES      339 

I  didn't  feel  as  I  know  and  feel  now.  The  whole 
world  wasn't  as  it  is  now." 

"Are  you,  were  you,  merely  an  agent?  You  are  so 
young  I  can  hardly  think  of  you  as  anything  but  a 
mere  agent!"  he  probed  skilfully. 

"No,  no;  I  had  (nothing  to  do  with  the  making  of 
plans,  nothing  to  do  with  that  part  of  it  at  all.  I — 
I  am  only — a  messenger." 

"You  were  sent  here  for  that  purpose?" 

"Yes." 

"By  whom?" 

"My  father,"  said  she,  in  a  whisper.  "I  may  tell 
that  much." 

"I  see.  And  that  old  man  who  was  killed — who 
was  he?  Your  grandfather?  Another  agent?" 

"Wenceslaus?  No,  he  was  not  my  grandfather. 
He  was — "  she  paused,  puzzled  to  make  him  under- 
stand just  what  "Wenceslaus  had  been  to  her  and 
hers.  "He  was — all  my  father  and  I  had,  all  we 
knew  of  love  and  service.  He  cared  for  me  from 
my  babyhood.  "We — why,  we  couldn't  have  lived 
without  Wenceslaus!" 

"Ah!     And  he,  too,  was — a  messenger?" 

"My  father  told  him  to  come  with  me,  and  of 
course  he  came.  One  always  did  as  my  father  said." 

"So  your  father  told  you  to  come  to  this  country, 
as  his  messenger,  and  told  "Wenceslaus  to  come  with 
you.  And  you  both  obeyed,  of  course.  In  the  mean- 
time your  father  suddenly  died.  Miss  Fabre,  has 
the  Baron  von  Rittenheim  anything  to  do  with  the 
business  on  which  your  father  sent  you?" 


340  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

She  did  not  answer.  She  had  not  expected  his 
questions  to  lead  up  to  this.  But  he  saw  that  he  had 
touched  the  truth:  her  startled  face,  the  swift  fright 
of  it,  confirmed  his  suspicions. 

"I  will  assume  that  he  has.  Now  let  's  see  if  I 
can  assume  somewhat  more.  You  are  a  Pole,  and 
the  Poles,  like  the  Irish,  are  a  stubborn  and  stiff- 
necked  people,  always  troublesome  to  foreign  masters, 
always  plotting  and  rebelling.  So  I  assume  that 
your  message  has  political  significance;  and  that  this 
distresses  and  frightens  you,  in  view  of  what  Europe 
is  facing  just  now — war,  and  a  very  frightful  war." 

She  twisted  her  fingers  together.  Her  forehead 
showed  beads  of  moisture.  She  said  in  trembling 
tones : 

"My   father — seemed    to    forsee   it.    He — knew." 

"Your  father  seems  to  have  been  a  very  unusual 
man,"  he  mused. 

"He  was  a  very  great  scholar — a  very  great  man, 
my  father." 

"Fabre?  Fabre?  I  can't  recall  any  scholar  of 
that  name,  for  the  minute,"  said  he,  looking  at  her 
searchingly. 

"Fabre  was  not  my  father's  name,"  said  Marya 
Jadwiga,  wearily.  She  was  sick  of  deceit,  sick  of 
subterfuge.  "You  will  please  continue  to  call  me 
Fabre.  But  my  father  was  Florian  Zuleski." 

"Zuleski?"  He  pricked  up  his  ears.  "There's 
Zuleski  the  astronomer  and  philologist,  text- 
book man,  standard  authority:  I  know  of  that 
Zuleski." 


JOHN  CHRYSOSTOM  INTERVENES      341 

' '  Then  you  know  of  my  father, ' '  said  she. 

The  student  sat  back  in  his  chair,  stupefied. 

"But  why  did  lie  send  his  daughter,  at  such  a  time, 
on  such  a  mission?"  he  wondered.  " Count  Florian 
Zuleski—  " 

' '  He  knew  he  was  about  to  die,  knew  his  plans  were 
in  danger  of  miscarriage.  There  was  no  one  but  me 
whom  he  could  send.  And  now — "  she  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands,  and  her  shoulders  shook — "now 
I  'm  turning  traitor  to  him !  I  'm  disobeying  him ! 
I  'm— I  'm—  " 

The  young  man  reached  over,  and  laid  a  kind  hand 
upon  her  shoulder. 

"You  're  trying  to  obey  the  instincts  of  your  con- 
science, Miss  Zu — Fabre,"  he  soothed.  "After  the 
earthquake  and  the  fire,  the  still,  small  voice — God's 
voice. ' ' 

"What  am  I  to  do?  What  am  I  to  do?"  she 
quavered.  "He — the  baron — is  coming  back.  And 
— and — the  others — " 

"The  baron  is  not  the  only  one  interested  or  in- 
volved in  your  message,  then?" 

"No,  no!" 

John  felt  himself  becoming  alarmed,  as  though 
something  of  her  dread  communicated  itself  to  him. 

"And— the  thing  's  pretty  big?" 

"Yes.    Oh,  yes!" 

"Look  here,"  said  the  young  man,  suddenly, 
"you  've  got  to  make  a  break  and  tell  me  the  truth.  I 
can't  help  you  unless  I  know.  You  'd  have  talked  to 
that  old  chap  Wenceslaus,  wouldn't  you?" 


342  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"Yes.  But  Wenceslaus — knew.  And  Wenceslaus 
died  because  he — had  come  with  me.  The  Herr  Baron 
thinks  his  death — may  not  have  been  altogether  ac- 
cidental." 

"  So  ?  All  the  more  reason  why  you  Ve  got  to 
tell  me.  And  then,  maybe,  I  '11  see  a  way  out. ' ' 

She  considered  this.  Alone,  beset,  confronted  by 
alternatives  both  of  which  were  horrible  to  her — 
betraying  her  father's  trust,  or  betraying  nation  to 
nation — she  felt  herself  growing  more  and  more  dis- 
tracted and  confused.  She  had  prayed  wildly  to  be 
shown  some  way  out.  Perhaps  this  was  how  help  was 
to  come  to  her! 

"I  will  tell  you  as  much  as  I  can,"  she  said,  after 
a  pause.  And  as  she  went  on,  John  saw  the  gaunt 
old  house,  the  lonely  years  of  poverty,  the  fanatic 
scientist-revolutionary  working  and  plotting  in  his 
huge,  bare  library.  The  details  were  meager  enough, 
as  regarded  herself;  but  he  coifld  see  that  the  grim 
old  visionary  had  seized  upon  even  his  one  child  as  a 
means  to  his  ends.  She  did  not  mention  any  of  the 
secret  things,  nor  tell  of  her  curious  studies ;  but  the 
effect  of  a  mind  exquisitely  trained  had  all  along 
been  apparent  to  him,  and  her  unconsciousness  of  the 
miracle  of  herself  heightened  the  fascination.  He 
kept  saying  to  himself,  ' '  Great  Heavens ! ' '  and  won- 
dering if  he  weren't  having  a  wild  dream  that  the 
daughter  of  Florian  Zuleski  was  sitting  in  his 
mother's  house  telling  him  these  astounding  things; 
and  that  she  was  the  same  little  fugitive  whom  Brian 
and  Jimmy  had  brought  to  them  in  the  night.  John 's 


JOHN  CHRYSOSTOM  INTERVENES       343 

admiration  for  Zuleski  was  tinged  with  horror.  What 
a  man !  Like  one  of  the  giants  of  old,  Jepthah,  who 
could  sacrifice  his  girl  for  a  vow 's  sake.  Agamemnon, 
who  could  turn  his  head  aside  and  let  Iphigeneia  die ! 

And  the  dark  shadow  of  Czadowska,  the  wild  figure 
of  Wincenty  the  gipsy,  the  bright  figure  of  the  baron 
beside  it,  and  the  noble  shadow  of  Wenceslaus  passed 
in  review  before  him.  She  touched  but  lightly  on 
Franciszka,  shrinking  with  loathing  from  the  thought 
of  her;  and  of  the  Man  Who  Paid  she  said  nothing 
at  all.  Of  the  Japanese  she  merely  said  that  a  part 
of  her  mission  had  been  carried  out.  She  paused 
then,  and  looked  at  John  Callaghan  pleadingly. 

"And — I  dreamed  one  night — since — that  I  saw  a 
monstrous  creature  that  looked  like  a  human  being, 
but  was  so  big  and  so  swollen  that  one  hardly  knew 
— and  it  staggered  and  fell — and  things  came  and 
scurried  around  it — it  was  rotting  alive  as  it  lay 
there  writhing — and  I  came,  and — and  I — helped  dis- 
embowel it — and  then  something  said,  (It  is  written!' 
and  I  was  so  terrified  that  I  seemed  to  swoon,  even 
in  my  sleep,"  she  gasped. 

"You  poor  child!"  cried  he,  and  again  put  a  kind 
and  steadying  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"And  since  then  I  have  had  no  peace  of  mind.  I 
know  I  must  do  one  thing  or  the  other;  and  both  are 
horrible  to  me,  horrible ! ' ' 

He  nodded  understandingly,  and  sat  thinking 
deeply.  It  was  not  an  easy  task,  hers!  Her  dis- 
tress distressed  him;  her  terror  made  him  uneasy. 
He  must  help  her  find  some  right  way  out. 


344  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"Miss  Fabre,"  he  began  presently.  But  she  said 
pathetically : 

"I  think  if  you.  will  call  me  'Marya  Jadwiga,'  Mr. 
Callaghan,  it  might  help  me  to  hold  on  to  reality. 
I  can't  help  feeling  that  'Miss  Fabre'  isn't  real — 
and—" 

"All  right,  Marya  Jadwiga,"  said  he,  cheerfully 
enough.  "Now,  what  I  want  to  know  is  this:  If 
you  carry  out  instructions  and  obey  commands,  will 
those  instructions  injure  others? — really  injure 
them? — work  harm?" 

"It  is  that  which  haunts  me!"  she  cried.  "That 
is  my  terror!" 

"Then,"  said  the  young  man  stoutly,  "you 
must  n  't  carry  out  those  instructions.  You  must  n  't 
make  bad  worse.  A  bad  oath,  an  oath  which  makes 
one  do  evil,  must  be  broken.  There  are  times — "  he 
lifted  his  head — "when  disobedience  is  righteousness, 
Marya  Jadwiga.  If  your  conscience  insists  that  this 
is  one  of  those  times,  you  must  obey  your  conscience. ' ' 

"You  are  sure  of  that?  I  do  right  when  I — 
refuse  to  deliver  my  message?" 

"I  am  sure  you  do  right  when  you  refuse  to  do 
what  seems  to  you  wrong." 

"If  you  were  in  my  place,  Mr.  Callaghan,  you 
would  do — " 

"I  should  do  what  I  thought  right,  and  risk  what- 
ever consequences  there  might  be,"  said  he,  firmly. 

"Thank  you,"  said  she.  "Would  you  think  it 
right  to — to  help  me,  Mr.  Callaghan?" 


JOHN  CHRYSOSTOM  INTERVENES      345 

"That  is  why  I  have  intruded  myself  into  your 
affairs,"  said  he.  "I  am  here  to  help  you,  if  I  can." 

"If  you  had  not  guessed  so  much — if  you  had  not 
come  when  you  did,  at  just  this  moment — I  shouldn't 
have  dared  admit — what  I  have  admitted,"  she 
told  him,  thoughtfully.  ' '  I  should  n  't,  perhaps,  have 
told  you  so  much.  Because  it  is  n 't  safe  for — for 
anybody  to  know  things  like  this,  is  it?  But,  oh,  I 
can't  help  feeling  glad  and  grateful  that  you  came!" 

"I  am  glad  and  grateful,  too.  You  see,  I  don't 
think  things  happen  by  chance :  I  think  God  intends 
us  to  help  or  be  helped  by  those  with  whom  we  come 
in  contact.  Keeping  in  touch  with  our  fellow  beings 
helpfully  is  our  best  way  of  keeping  in  touch  with 
Jesus  Christ,  I  think."  His  smile  was  so  beautiful, 
his  look  so  mild  that  it  was  as  though  a  healing  hand 
had  been  laid  upon  her  perturbed  spirit.  She 
grew  calmer,  and  something  of  her  old  courage, 
shaken  by  Wenceslaus's  tragic  death  and  the  hideous 
difficulties  into  which  she  had  been  plunged,  was  re- 
stored to  her. 

"I  will  believe  you  didn't  happen  by  chance,  Mr. 
Callaghan,"  she  told  him.  "And,  believing  this,  I 
beg  you  to  tell  me  what  I  must  do — with  what  I  am 
going  to  show  you." 

' '  I  will  do  the  best  I  can,  Marya  Jadwiga. ' ' 

But  he  started  and  half  arose,  when,  taking  from  a 
bureau  drawer  a  flat  box,  she  opened  it,  and  he  saw 
its  contents. 

"Great   Heavens,    child!"   he   cried.     "You   have 


346  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

kept  that  in  an  unlocked  bureau  drawer?  And  this, 
too?"  For  she  had  unwrapped  from,  its  tissue-paper 
swathings  the  exquisite  jewelry  which  the  Japanese 
had  sent  her.  He  had  never  seen  anything  to  equal 
it  for  delicacy  and  beauty  and  sheer  perfection,  and 
he  could  not  restrain  his  admiration.  But  Marya 
Jadwiga  looked  at  it  with  aversion,  and  shuddered 
away  from  it. 

"The  money,"  she  told  him,  "my  father  meant — 
for  Poland — for — for — what  he  used  money,  all  the 
money  he  could  get.  And  he  is  dead,  and 
Wenceslaus  is  dead,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do 
with  it,  and  I  am  afraid  of  it.  The  jewels  are  for 
me,  but  I  can't  bear  to  look  at  them,  to  touch  them. 
I  don't  want  ever  to  see  them  again!  Mr.  Callaghan, 
what  am  I  to  do  with  these  things  ? ' ' 

He  was  still  startled,  and  his  head  whirled.  Such 
a  sum,  things  of  such  enormous  value,  must  not  be  left 
here  in  his  mother's  house.  He  felt  panicky  at  the 
thought. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  should  eventually  do 
with  the  money  or  the  jewelry,  but  I  do  know  that 
you  Ve  got  to  put  them  where  they  '11  be  secure,  and 
do  it  at  once.  If  even  a  hint  got  out  that  we  had 
this,  nothing  would  save  us  from  being  robbed — and 
perhaps  having  all  our  heads  cracked  in  the 
bargain. ' ' 

"But  if  I  put  such  a  large  amount  of  money  in  a 
bank,  wouldn't  there  be  some  question?  How  could 
I  manage  it?  I — I  don't  want  anybody  to  know  it 
is  in  my  possession ! ' ' 


JOHN  CHRYSOSTOM  INTERVENES       347 

"You  could  put  the  box  in  a  safety-deposit  vault. 
It  would  be  secure.  Yes,  you  could  do  that." 

She  considered  this  suggestion,  and  found  it  good. 
Yes,  she  would  do  that.  And — why  not  the  papers, 
too?  Would  not  this  solve  the  problem  of  their  im- 
mediate disposal?  She  had  been  sorely  tempted  to 
burn  them,  but  recoiled  from  the  actual  deed  of 
destruction,  troubled  and  confused  between  conscience 
and  the  feeling  that  she  would  be,  as  it  were,  making 
a  bonfire  of  her  father's  lifework.  But  if  they  could 
be  hidden  so  securely,  so  secretly,  that  they  would 
no  longer  be  a  menace — and  she  could  be  free?  She 
asked  entreatingly : 

"Would  you  do  that  for  me,  Mr.  Callaghan? 
Would  you  take  this  money  and  put  it  away  for  me? 
And  the  jewelry?  And — and  another  package  with 
them?" 

He  shrank  from  the  responsibility. 

"What  is  the  other  package?" 

"Papers,"  in  a  whisper. 

He  felt  more  panicky  yet.  As  in  a  glass  darkly,  he 
began  to  see  something  of  what  was  happening.  It 
seemed  wildly  improbable  that  he — matter-of-fact 
everyday  student — should  be  caught  in  the  net  of 
Plorian  Zuleski's  affairs,  or  be  playing  knight  errant 
to  Mary  a  Jadwiga,  Zuleski  's  daughter.  He  wanted  to 
rub  his  eyes  and  wake  up.  And  instead  he  found 
himself  telling  her  earnestly: 

"I  sha'n't  ask  you  to  tell  me  any  more.  And  I  '11 
try  to  manage  the  affair  for  you.  We  've  got  to  get 
this  stuff  out  of  the  house  and  into  safety  as  quickly 


348  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

as  we  can  do  so.  Get  the  things  in  shape,  and  I  '11 
take  the  box  to  the  bank.  God  send  the  house  isn't 
watched  and  I  'm  followed!" 

"The  house  is  watched,"  she  informed  him,  to  his 
horror.  "The  baron  gave  me  to  understand  that — 
to  make  me  know  I  couldn't  leave  here  without 
his  knowledge.  But  you  won't  be  followed.  They 
won't  suspect  you.  They  won't  think  I  'd  dare 
let  you  know  the  truth  about  myself,  or  even  tell  my 
real  name.  He  intimated  to-day  that  I  might  be 
considered  a  spy,  and  subject  to  deportation."  She 
raised  her  eyes  to  his.  "But  it  isn't  that  which 
frightens  me,"  she  finished.  "If  I  could  be 
assured  that  the  papers  are  safe,  I  could  afford  to 
smile  at  threats.  My  only  grief  then  would  be  that 
I  might  have  brought  trouble  upon  you,  my  friends, 
by  drawing  you  into  my  affairs." 

"I  '11  risk  what  trouble  there  might  be."  But  the 
thought  of  taking  that  amount  of  money  out  of  a 
house  watched  by  possibly  dangerous  men,  and 
of  carrying  Florian  Zuleski's  secret  papers  upon  his 
person,  brought  the  perspiration  to  his  forehead.  It 
was  just  as  safe  as  to  carry  a  couple  of  bombs  in  his 
pockets. 

"You  are  troubled  by  my  miseries  and  perplex- 
ities!" cried  the  girl,  watching  him.  "You  are 
entangled  in  my  wretched  affairs !  Ah,  forgive  me ! 
forgive  me!" 

"You  got  caught,  yourself.  And  you  're  nothing 
but  a  little  bit  of  a  girl,  and  I  'm  a  husky  brute  of  a 


man,"  he  told  her,  forcing  himself  to  speak  cheer- 
fully. " Don't  you  worry,  Marya  Jadwiga.  And 
now  let  's  get  this — er — damaging  evidence*  out  of  the 
way." 

Together  they  wrapped  up  the  box,  which  made 
an  inconspicuous  package  enough.  The  thin,  flat 
packet  which  Marya  Jadwiga  took  from  her  bosom 
he  transferred  to  his  own  inside  pocket.  Oddly 
enough,  he  felt  somewhat  as  she  did  about  those 
papers:  as  though  they  had  transferred  to  him  her 
burden,  they  weighed  upon  him  almost  physically, 
and  made  him  feel  hunted. 

Ten  minutes  later  Mrs.  Callaghan  was  standing  in 
the  doorway,  as  she  always  stood  to  watch  him  go 
swinging  down  the  street  with  his  long  stride  of  an 
athlete.  He  carried  one  or  two  textbooks,  and  an 
inconspicuous,  smallish  box  wrapped  in  brown  paper 
and  tied  with  common  twine.  His  mother's  smile 
followed  him  like  a  blessing,  for  she  was  tremendously 
proud  of  this  fine  lad  of  hers. 

' '  However  the  likes  of  me  deserved  the  likes  of  him 
for  a  son!"  she  thought  humbly  and  proudly. 
Then  she  went  back  into  the  house  and  closed  the 
door,  and  called  upstairs  to  Marya  Jadwiga  to  lay 
her  sewin'  aside,  darlin',  and  come  down  and  have 
a  cruller  and  a  cup  of  tea. 

John  Callaghan  turned  on  his  trail,  and  sought  out 
Brian  Kelly.  John  did  most  of  the  talking.  He 
began  by  asking  a  blunt  question,  to  which  he 
received  an  equally  blunt  answer.  Then,  shortly, 


350  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

forcefully,  he  drove  home  what  he  had  to  say,  and 
Officer  Kelly  listened  with  a  set  face  and  wildly  beat- 
ing heart. 

"Now,  if  you  are  quite  sure,  Brian — " 

' '  I  am  quite  sure.  I  have  been  sure  from  the  first, 
John.  I  might  have  suspected  something  like  this.  I 
agree  with  you  that  what  you  suggest  is  the  only  safe 
plan, ' '  Brian  told  him. 

' '  I  think  you  can  manage  it, ' '  said  John. 

' '  I  am  sure  I  can.    You  '11  stand  by  ? " 

"We'll  all  stand  by." 

They  shook  hands.  Then  John  walked  away,  with 
his  nice,  clean  textbooks  and  his  little  paper-covered 
package.  And  Officer  Kelly  sought  the  nearest 
telephone. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   COP   AND  THE    COUNTESS 

JOHN  CALLAGHAN,  letting  himself  into  the 
house,  upon  an  August  evening,  a  few  days  after 
his  private  interview  with  Brian  Kelly,  was  sur- 
prised to  hear  no  sound  of  his  mother  at  work.  When 
he  called  out  cheerily,  "Mother!  I  say,  Mother!" 
there  was  no  answer.  This  surprised  him  even  more, 
for  his  mother,  when  she  did  go  out  of  an  afternoon, 
timed  her  return  so  that  the  evening  meal  should  be 
well  under  way  at  this  hour.  John  turned  on  the 
hall  lights.  Then  he  called, ' '  Marya  Jadwiga ! ' '  But 
plainly  there  was  nobody  in  the  house. 

A  curious  sound  attracted  his  attention — an  odd, 
dull  bumping,  or  knocking.  Had  the  house  been  less 
silent,  one  would  have  missed  it  altogether.  It 
seemed  to  come  from  the  parlor,  and  John  listened 
for  a  moment,  with  head  bent;  as  it  continued,  he 
jerked  open  the  parlor  door,  switched  on  the  lights, 
but  for  the  moment  saw  nothing  more  unusual  than 
an  overturned  vase  of  flowers,  and  chairs  pushed 
awry.  Then  he  made  out  that  the  sounds  came  from 
somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  old  square 
Knabe  piano  that  Colette  would  not  discard  for  a 
modern  upright.  The  next  moment  he  was  dragging 

351 


352  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

the  roly-poly  form  of  his  mother  from  under  the 
piano. 

An  embroidered  centerpiece  was  stuffed  into  her 
mouth,  and  her  hands  and  feet  had  been  tied  with 
strips  of  her  own  housewifely  apron.  The  noise 
John  heard  had  been  his  mother's  foot  tapping,  with 
as  much  force  as  she  was  able  to  bring  to  bear,  on 
the  baseboard  of  the  wall  against  which  she  had  been 
rolled.  It  was  only  by  the  most  prodigious  efforts 
that  the  fat  little  woman  had  thus  been  able  to 
attract  his  attention. 

She  was  in  a  sad  state,  her  eyes  swollen,  her  hair 
sticking  to  her  face  wet  with  tears  and  perspiration. 
John  ran  into  the  dining-room,  returned  with  a 
pitcher  of  ice-water,  and  bathed  her  face  and  wrists. 
He  shot  one  question  at  her : 

"Marya  Jadwiga — ?" 

His  mother  began  to  cry  hysterically,  and  for  some 
time  John  had  his  hands  full.  When  she  could  con- 
trol herself  she  gasped  out  that  two  men  had  come 
and  taken  Mary  Jadwiga  away.  She  had  wished  to 
interfere,  and  had  been  gagged  before  she  knew 
where  she  was,  tied  and  rolled  under  the  piano  like 
an  old  rug.  She  had  been  there  above  an  hour  be- 
fore he  came  and  released  her.  Vowed  though  he 
was  to  Christian  charity,  to  forgiveness  of  enemies, 
and  to  brotherly  love,  it  would  have  gone  very  hard 
with  those  who  had  thus  treated  his  mother  if  John 
Callaghan  could  have  gotten  his  hands  on  them  just 
then! 

When  he  had  soothed  her  into  coherence,  she  tried 


THE  COP  AND  THE  COUNTESS        353 

to  tell  him  how  it  had  happened.  The  two  men  who 
had  rung  the  door  bell  were  civil-spoken,  gentlemanly 
looking  fellows.  They  asked,  very  politely,  to  see 
Miss  Fabre.  Their  business  was  important.  The 
widow  hesitating,  the  two  stepped  into  the  hall,  the 
second  man  pushing  the  door  shut  after  him. 

The  widow's  first  thought  was  that  they  were 
detectives  in  the  service  of  the  old  man  Marya  Jad- 
wiga  had  wounded.  Mrs.  Callaghan  was  angry,  but 
not  unduly  alarmed.  She  had  a  native  shrewdness, 
and  with  a  show  of  indignation  she  demanded  to  see 
the  warrants  authorizing  them  to  enter  a  private 
house.  The  men  shrugged  indifferent  shoulders. 

''We  have  come  to  see  Miss  Fabre.  She  is  here. 
We  intend  to  see  her." 

"You  will  not!"  shouted  the  widow,  lifting  her 
voice.  "You  will  see  no  Miss  Fabre,  or  anybody  else 
in  this  house,  this  afternoon!"  She  wished  with  all 
her  heart  that  she  and  the  girl  had  not  been  alone; 
that  at  least  one  of  the  men  had  been  there!  Oh, 
for  John,  or  Brian  Kelly!  Brian  would  be  wild 
entirely  when  he  heard  this! 

"You  make  much  trouble  for  yourself,  madame," 
said  one  of  the  intruders,  coldly.  Before  the  widow 
could  reply,  Marya  Jadwiga  appeared  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs.  She  had  been  sewing,  and  she  still  held 
a  lacy  bit  of  work  in  her  hand,  the  needle  poised. 
When  she  saw  the  strangers,  she  put  the  needle  into 
the  lace,  and  laid  the  work  carefully  on  the  banis- 
ter. Then  she  came  downstairs.  She  did  not  seem 
surprised.  One  might  think  she  had  expected  them. 


354  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

Both,  of  them  bowed  to  her  politely  enough.  One, 
pushing  aside  Mrs.  Callaghan,  went  up  to  her,  said 
something  in  a  low  voice,  and  laid  his  hand  on  her 
arm.  She  looked  at  him  with  cold  rebuke ;  he  removed 
his  hand,  but  still  kept  close  to  her.  He  spoke 
rapidly,  in  a  tongue  Mrs.  Callaghan  could  not  under- 
stand. 

Marya  Jadwiga  listened  without  interruption. 
When  he  paused,  she  said  quietly,  in  English: 

"I  am  sorry,  but  you  are  entirely  mistaken." 

Both  of  the  men  began  to  speak  to  her  then,  though 
of  course  Mrs.  Callaghan  could  not  tell  what  they 
said.  More  excited  than  ever,  they  seemed  to  coax,  to 
argue,  to  command,  maybe  to  threaten.  Marya  Jad- 
wiga merely  shook  her  head.  And  she  said,  still  in 
English : 

"My  father  is  dead.  And  since  I  came  here, 
Wenceslaus  also  has  died.  He  was  killed." 

They  must  have  requested  then  that  she  should 
reply  in  their  own  speech,  for  she  said  with  spirit: 

"You  understand  English.  I  myself  shall  here- 
after always  speak  English." 

They  grumbled,  shrugged  shoulders,  made  dis- 
pleased gestures.  They  asked  her  questions.  Mrs. 
Callaghan  could  only  surmise,  from  the  girl's  replies, 
what  those  questions  might  be.  She  was  saying  now, 
composedly : 

"Yes;  my  father  sent  us.  His  end  was  near; 
there  was  nothing  for  us  over  there  when  he  had 
gone.  He  told  us  to  come  here  and  we  came." 

More  vehement  talk  ensued.     Then  the  girl : 


THE  COP  AND  THE  COUNTESS        355 

"But  I  have  told  you  already  I  have  nothing,  I 
know  nothing,  I  can  reveal  nothing.  I  cannot  help 
what  the  chief  may  think,  and  to  say  I  am  a  spy  is 
ridiculous.  Let  me  repeat:  I  have  nothing  for  you." 

They  must  have  begun  to  threaten  her,  then,  for 
they  spoke  angrily;  they  looked  at  Mrs.  Callaghan 
significantly,  and  one  waved  his  hand  at  her  as  he 
went  on  talking.  And  presently  Marya  Jadwiga 
cried  out: 

"No,  no,  no!  I  refuse!  This  is  an  outrage!  I 
will  not  go ! " 

Mrs.  Callaghan  had  begun  to  get  frightened.  She 
cried  out,  in  her  alarm: 

"Indeed  you  sha'n't  go,  then!  I  'm  here  to  see 
that  you  don't  go!"  and  took  a  step  as  though  to  go 
to  the  girl's  aid.  The  next  moment  she  was  looking 
into  the  blue  steel  mouth  of  an  automatic  and,  behind 
it,  a  pair  of  menacing  eyes. 

"Don't  move,  madame,"  warned  the  gentleman 
behind  the  automatic.  Without  turning  his  head  he 
spoke  to  Marya  Jadwiga  sharply,  and  the  girl,  as 
though  under  compulsion,  came  and  stood  beside 
Mrs.  Callaghan.  She  said  in  a  low  tone,  brokenly: 

' '  They  threaten  you.  Forgive  me !  forgive  me !  I 
would  die  rather  than  bring  trouble  upon  you,  upon 
this  house — " 

The  pistol-holder  gave  another  sharp  command, 
and  the  girl  was  silent,  even  while  she  watched  one 
of  the  visitors  thrust  the  hall-table  centerpiece  into 
Mrs.  Callaghan 's  outraged  mouth,  and  tie  her  hands 
securely  with  her  own  apron,  torn  into  strips.  Then 


356  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

the  widow  was  marched  into  her  own  parlor,  where, 
after  a  struggle  in  which  a  vase  of  flowers  was  upset 
and  the  chairs  pushed  all  awry,  he  got  her  to  the  floor, 
and  tied  her  feet,  despite  her  kicks.  When  she  was 
trussed  to  his  liking,  he  very  coolly  rolled  her  under 
the  piano,  so  that,  should  any  one  enter  the  house 
unexpectedly,  she  would  not  be  too  conspicuous! 

Lying  there,  she  heard  one  of  them  run  lightly  up- 
stairs. When  he  came  down,  there  was  further  talk 
in  the  hall — angry  talk — for  a  minute  or  so  more. 
And  then  Marya  Jadwiga  called  out,  in  a  shaking 
voice:  "Mother  Callaghan!  good-by!  I  must  go!" 
The  widow,  struggling  desperately  and  ineffectually 
with  her  bonds,  knew  that  they  were  taking  the  girl 
away.  She  heard  the  front  door  open  and  close. 
They  were  gone — she  did  not  know  where. 

John  considered.  And  the  more  he  considered, 
the  more  alarmed  he  became.  Upstairs  the  bedrooms 
looked  as  though  a  cyclone  had  struck  them,  what 
with  bureau  drawers  emptied  and  the  contents  of 
trunks  thrown  pellmell  on  the  floor.  The  search  had 
been  hasty  but  drastic.  Mrs  Callaghan,  divided  be- 
tween rage  and  terror,  bewailed  the  state  of  her  house. 
What  could  the  murdering  vagabonds,  the  thieving 
scoundrels  have  been  after,  she  wondered?  John, 
who  knew,  felt  his  scalp  prickle  when  he  thought 
of  what  they  would  have  discovered  if  he  had 
not  taken  a  hand  in  the  game  just  when  he  did. 
They  had  not  gotten  what  they  sought,  thanks  to  him. 
And  he  thought  that  so  long  as  they  had  not,  Marya 
Jadwiga  might  in  a  measure  be  protected  against 


THE  COP  AND  THE  COUNTESS        357 

them.  He  did  not  want  to  think  that  they  might  try 
to  persuade  her — by  their  own  methods — to  betray 
herself.  Of  these  fears,  as  of  other  things  he  knew, 
he  gave  no  hint  to  his  mother. 

He  did  not  know  exactly  what  to  do.  He  did  not 
wish  to  telephone  headquarters  without  first  notify- 
ing Brian  Kelly.  He  dared  not  leave  his  mother 
alone  in  the  house,  and  Colette  had  not  as  yet  come 
in.  While  he  pondered  the  door  bell  rang  violently. 
A  moment  later  the  Baron  von  Rittenheim  was  de- 
manding to  be  told  just  what  had  happened.  He 
had  been  out,  he  said;  and  his  men  had  had  some 
difficulty  in  locating  him.  But  when  they  did  get 
him  on  the  wire,  they  told  him  that  the  girl  had 
left  the  Charlton  Street  house  with  two  strange  men, 
had  gotten  into  a  car,  and  had  been  driven  away. 
They  picked  up  the  trail  as  best  they  might ;  but  they 
had  lost  it,  due  to  a  halt  in  the  traffic.  One  of  the 
men  thought  he  had  picked  it  up  again;  they  were 
working  on  the  case  now.  Had  John  heard  any- 
thing ? 

John  had  not.     He  asked,  fearfully: 

"She  is  in  danger?" 

' '  She  is  in  danger, ' '  said  the  baron,  shortly.  l '  She 
is  in  the  hands  of  agents  of  the  Russian  Secret  Serv- 
ice. They  are  not  over-scrupulous.  I  will  do  the 
best  I  can.  But  I  am  at  a  great  disadvantage,  as 
you  can  imagine.  I  shall  have  to  call  for  your  help, 
all  the  help  you  can  muster.  I  cannot  act  as  a  Ger- 
man. You  must  act,  as  Americans.  It  might  be 
effective.  I  am  not  sure." 


358  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"But  why,"  probed  John,  "should  the  Russian 
Secret  Service  be  so  keen  to  kidnap  a  young  girl  like 
her?" 

"A  young  girl  like  her  may  be  a  dangerous  spy," 
said  the  baron,  shortly.  "They  will  hold  her  as  a 
spy,  a  German  spy." 

"But  that  is  ridiculous." 

"It  is  not  ridiculous.  But  it  happens  not  to  be 
true,"  said  the  baron.  And  he  wiped  his  forehead. 
"They  had  evidently  timed  you.  They  caught  her 
when  they  knew  she  and  Mrs.  Callaghan  would  be 
alone  for  several  hours.  They  are  very  clever. 
They  knew  of  my  visit,  of  course.  But  do  they  know 
we  also  have  set  a  watch?  That  is  to  be  con- 
sidered ! ' ' 

Rittenheim  had  listened  to  Mrs.  Callaghan 's 
tearful  account.  He  had  made  her  describe  her  vis- 
itors as  minutely  as  she  could,  and  go  over  the  con- 
versation as  she  remembered  it.  He  nodded  his  head 
when  she  came  to  the  girl's  indignant  repudiation  of 
the  term  "spy." 

He  was  extremely  thoughtful  as  to  her  refusal  to 
grant  some  request,  give  some  information.  They 
had  wanted  her  to  tell  them  something,  Mrs. 
Callaghan  insisted.  And  she  had  refused.  She  had 
said  over  and  over  she  had  nothing  for  them. 

The  baron  was  deeply  puzzled.  Was  he  mistaken? 
Had  she  really  nothing?  Had  Zuleski  mocked  and 
tricked  them  all,  with  a  madman's  grisly  humor,  sure 
that  death  would  save  him  from  their  vengeance? 
Had  he  sent  the  girl  away  with  empty  hands?  Pon- 


THE  COP  AND  THE  COUNTESS        359 

dering  Zuleski,  the  baron  could  not  feel  sure.  There 
was  something  wrong,  somewhere. 

The  German  knew  of  the  frantic  search  for  certain 
missing  Kussian  papers.  Just  what  those  papers  cov- 
ered, he  did  not  know.  But  he  was  sure  Zuleski  had 
known.  How?  From  whom  and  whence  had  he  re- 
ceived information,  known  secrets  breathed  only  to  a 
few  of  the  highest  ?  But  how  had  Zuleski  discovered 
the  many  things  he  did  know  ?  The  baron  wished  he 
could  say  with  certainty!  Had  he  risked  his 
daughter  idly?  N-no;  one  thought  not,  all  things 
considered.  There  was  something  behind  all  this. 
But  in  the  meantime  he  must  consider  the  girl's 
present  fate.  Marya  Jadwiga  in  the  hands  of 
Czadowska's  agents  made  his  soul  sick. 

They  had  evidently  tracked  her  through  Wences- 
laus,  as  he  himself  had  done.  It  was  through  some 
of  their  men  that  "Wenceslaus  had  met  his  death. 
From  the  hospital,  then,  they  had  tracked  Policemen 
Kelly  to  this  house.  They  had  even  seen  Ritten- 
heim  here ;  that  was  why  they  had  decided  upon  such 
action  as  had  been  taken  this  afternoon.  The  baron 
bit  his  lip  angrily.  He  might  have  remembered  that 
Czadowska's  agents  would  be  quite  as  clever  as  his 
own! 

The  baron  had  lost  his  ruddy  color.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  experienced  fear  for  somebody 
dear  to  him,  and  saw  himself  at  a  loss;  he  could  not 
give  orders  and  expect  to  have  those  orders  instantly 
obeyed.  And  he  reproached  himself  as  his  fears 
gained  on  him.  Why  had  he  been  over-cautious? 


360  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

Why  had  he  not  known  his  own  heart  ?  Why  had  he 
not  snatched  her,  willy-nilly,  out  of  the  nightmarish 
turmoil  into  which  that  old  madman  had  cast 
her,  and,  no  matter  what  happened,  placed  her  in  the 
safety  that  his  name  would  have  assured  her?  He 
should  have  married  her  out  of  hand !  It  could  have 
been  arranged.  Well — he  had  not.  And  now 
Czadowska's  men  had  outwitted  him.  He  wiped  his 
forehead,  and  his  hand  shook.  He  wished  to  roar, 
lionlike.  It  was  as  though  a  barb  had  pierced  his 
breast.  Not  only  his  love  but  his  pride  suffered 
acutely. 

Brian  Kelly  and  Colette  came  in  together.  The 
young  man  was  smiling,  eager,  handsome,  and  radi- 
antly young.  He  carried  a  box  of  candy,  and  a  small 
cluster  of  flowers  wrapped  in  waxed  paper.  He 
stopped  short  at  sight  of  the  distraught  faces  turned 
to  him,  and  his  eyes  sought  John's,  mutely.  John 
told  him,  briefly. 

Colette  ran  to  the  weeping  Mrs.  Callaghan,  and  the 
two  women  clung  together.  The  policeman  laid  aside 
the  candy  and  flowers,  and  stood  looking  at  them  for 
a  moment,  fixedly.  Then  he  went  into  the  hall, 
reached  for  the  telephone,  and  called  the  commis- 
sioner, whom  he  caught  at  his  club.  He  was  promised 
the  immediate  help  of  the  best  brains  of  the  Depart- 
ment, and  whatever  personal  help  the  commissioner 
himself  could  give.  Their  best  detectives  would  be 
put  to  work  at  once. 

Brian  turned  to  John,  who  had  followed  him. 

"Shall   I  tell  the   German  the   truth  now?"   he 


THE  COP  AND  THE  COUNTESS        361 

asked,  in  a  low  voice.  "Should  he  know?  Can  we 
trust  him  that  much?" 

But  John  hesitated.  "It  might  anger  him  into 
washing  his  hands  of  the  affair,  and  we  can't  afford 
that.  We  need  his  help,  for  her.  When  we  discover 
her  whereabouts,  and  with  whom  she  is,  then  you  can 
tell,  and  act." 

"Well— if  you  think  that  's  best.  But  I  don't  like 
it,"  said  Brian,  agreeing  unwillingly. 

"I  do  think  it  's  best,"  said  John  firmly. 

The  two  returned  to  the  parlor,  where  the  baron  sat 
tapping  his  foot. 

"The  men  from  headquarters  should  be  here  in  a 
few  minutes,"  John  explained,  and  the  German 
nodded. 

Into  this  dismal  group  Miss  Honora  Kelly  irrupted 
herself.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  put  in  an  even- 
ing appearance,  and  they  looked  at  her  in  dull  sur- 
prise. 

"Brother  said  I  might  come  whenever  I  pleased; 
and  I  pleased  to  take  him  at  his  word  and  come  to- 
night. Where  's  Marya  Jadwiga?" 

But  Marya  Jadwiga 's  throaty  voice  did  not  reply. 
Miss  Honora  looked  around  the  dejected  group,  and 
asked  nervously: 

"What  's  the  matter?  Is  there  anything  the 
matter?  Brian!  is  anything  wrong — with  her?" 

"Tell  her,"  said  Brian  to  John. 

She  couldn't  understand,  at  first.  Marya  Jad- 
wiga taken  away,  out  of  Mary's  house,  by  foreigners? 


362  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"But  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  it?"  she  cried. 
"  Have  n't  we  a  police  department?  This  outrages 
heaven ! ' ' 

The  baron  studied  her  keenly.  Evidently  a  person 
of  some  standing.  These  others  were  not.  A  police- 
man, a  student,  designer  of  costumes,  were  negli- 
gible factors.  He  addressed  himself  to  Miss  Honora : 

"Miss  Kelly,  if  these  good  people  have  any  in- 
fluential friends  upon  whom  they  may  depend — "  he 
began.  Miss  Honora  looked  up  alertly. 

"You  mean,  do  we  know  somebody  who  has  in- 
fluence? Somebody  powerful  enough  to  make  things 
move  quickly?" 

"Exactly.  If  you  could  induce  such  a  person  to 
use  his  influence —  You  will  understand,  I,  myself, 
am  a  foreigner.  That  always  militates  against  one, 
particularly  at  such  a  time  as  the  present." 

Miss  Honora 's  soft  old  lips  set  into  obstinate 
Kelly  lines. 

"Mary,  I  '11  use  your  phone,"  said  she.  And  as 
she  passed  Brian  she  took  his  black  head  in  her  hands 
and  kissed  him. 

"Don't  be  too  fearful:  we  '11  have  your  girl  back, 
if  we  have  to  shake  this  town  upside  down  to  find 
her!"  said  she,  valiantly.  Then  she  went  into  the 
hall  and  called  up  Dominick  Kelly : 

"This  is  Honora.  I  'm  at  Mary  Callaghan's  house, 
in  Charlton  Street.  I  want  you  to  come  here.  .  .  . 
No,  I  said  come  here.  And  come  at  once.  .  .  .  Yes, 
it  is  about  Brian.  And  that  girl.  She  's  been  kid- 
napped. You  've  got  to  help  us.  We  need  you." 


THE  COP  AND  THE  COUNTESS        363 

Came  a  slight  pause.  Then:  "I  '11  give  you 
thirty-five  minutes  in  which  to  get  here,"  said  Miss 
Honora,  in  a  cool,  quiet  voice.  "If  you  fail  me, 
Dominick  Kelly,  you  shall  never  see  my  face  again  in 
this  world.  .  .  .  Very  well,  Brother  Dominick." 
Another  pause.  "I  said  we  needed  you  didn't 
I  ?  .  .  .  Yes,  I  supposed  you  would. ' ' 

She  came  back  and  laid  her  hand  lightly,  lovingly 
on  Brian's  shoulder. 

"The  baron  thinks  we  should  call  upon  whatever 
influential  friends  we  may  happen  to  possess,"  said 
she,  quietly.  "The  only  influential  friend  I  possess 
is  Dominick.  I  should  say  he  will  be  here  in  half 
an  hour." 

They  spoke  together  in  low  voices.  The  men  as- 
signed by  headquarters  came,  and  talked  with  John 
Callaghan,  and  went  away.  They  looked  at  Brian 
Kelly  sympathetically — somehow  they  knew  he  was 
vitally  interested — and  promised  to  do  their  best. 
Miss  Honora  kept  glancing  at  her  wrist-watch.  In 
exactly  thirty  minutes  Mr.  Dominick  Kelly  walked 
into  the  Charlton  Street  house.  He  bowed  to  the 
women,  and  flashed  his  keen  eyes  over  young  John,  and 
upon  the  baron,  whom  he  could  not  place,  but  whose 
title  made  him  stare.  Then  he  turned  to  his  son. 

The  young  man  had  risen  as  his  father  entered  the 
room.  They  regarded  each  other  steadily,  measur- 
ingly ;  and  their  Kelly  jaws  stuck  out.  The  older  man 
had  grown  thinner,  grimmer,  more  belligerent.  The 
younger  man  had  grown.  Regard,  please,  Mary  Hal- 
let's  famous  "Teucer"  in  a  policeman's  uniform! 


364  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

Domini ck's  eyes,  under  their  shaggy  eyebrows,  went 
over  him  coolly  enough.  Whatever  emotion  the  hard- 
boiled  old  mogul  might  have  experienced  he  man- 
aged to  conceal. 

' '  Good-evening,  Officer  Kelly.  I '  m  advised  you  've 
lost  a  girl;  and  my  sister  Honora  tells  me  she  won't 
live  under  the  same  roof  with  me  unless  I  quit  my 
work  and  help  you  find  her, ' '  said  Dominick. 

"I  hear  you  've  lost  a  girl."  That,  referring  to  the 
Countess  Zuleska!  And  spoken  in  the  coolest  pos- 
sible way!  The  noble  Baron  Karl  Otto  Johann  von 
Eittenheim  looked  at  all  these  people  with  an 
irritation  which,  despite  his  efforts,  was  growing 
upon  him  by  leaps  and  bounds.  They  were  stepping 
out  of  their  sphere,  even  for  Americans.  Did  they 
not  understand  the  immeasurable  difference  between 
them  and  the  Countess  Zuleska  ?  It  would  seem  not ! 
Why,  in  Heaven's  name,  should  they  lavish 
sympathy  upon  that  young  policeman?  What 
possible  connection  should  there  be,  could  there  be, 
between  a  New  York  policeman  and  Florian  Zuleski's 
daughter?  Yet  Miss  Honora  Kelly  used  the  term 
"your  girl."  Colette  0 'Shane  sat  near  him, 
and  from  time  to  time  whispered  to  him  consolingly. 
Rittenheim  liked  Miss  0 'Shane's  appearance  and 
manner;  if  the  big  young  officer  had  singled 
her  out,  the  baron  would  have  approved.  They 
were  both  Americans,  presumably  of  the  same  class. 
But  that  a  policeman  should  lift  his  eyes  to  Marya 
Jadwiga!  The  young  Callaghan  man,  too,  seemed 
to  share  this  amazing  delusion;  for  in  his  quiet  way 


THE  COP  AND  THE  COUNTESS        365 

he  sought  to  encourage  the  policeman  to  take  heart 
of  hope.  His  mother's  sympathy  was  more  open  and 
tearful ;  she  spoke  of  the  policeman  as  "my  dear  boy," 
and  assured  him,  "The  darlin'  will  come  back  to  you 
safe  an'  sound;  never  you  fear!" 

And  now  came  the  elderly  personage  who,  it  ap- 
peared, was  the  policeman's  father.  That  such  a  one 
should  be  a  policeman's  father  puzzled  the  baron 
sadly;  for  even  a  noble  baron  could  feel  a  quite  hu- 
man respect  for  a  man  so  big,  so  forceful,  so  assured 
as  Dominick.  But  he,  too,  addressed  the  young  man 
directly:  "I  hear  you  've  lost  a  girl."  It  was  plain 
to  be  seen  that  he  was  here,  not  for  the  girl's  sake 
but  for  the  man's.  As  though,  forsooth,  the  fellow 
had  some  claim  upon  her — upon  the  little  noblewoman 
whom  the  baron,  himself,  of  her  own  class,  desired  to 
make  his  own. 

He  was  naturally  a  polite  man,  the  baron.  He  had 
no  wish  to  offend,  particularly  as  he  needed  them  to 
help  him.  But  he  felt  that  he  must  make  them  un- 
derstand— politely,  of  course — how  wide  of  the  mark 
they  were  in  their  assumption,  A  cat  may  look  at  a 
king,  or  a  queen.  A  policeman  may  look  at  a  coun- 
tess. But — to  refer  to  her  as  "your  girl"?  A  noble 
baron  cannot,  could  not,  would  not,  should  not,  be 
jealous  of  a  policeman;  but  he  may  be  excessively 
annoyed.  The  baron  was  excessively  annoyed. 
These  worthy  folk  were  misinterpreting  the  simplic- 
ity, the  naivete  of  the  countess's  character.  Her 
natural  condescension  would  inevitably  lead  to  mis- 
interpretation. Or — stay:  did  she  really  mean  to 


366  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

condescend?  or  had  that  ineffable  old  lunatic  Zu- 
leski  carried  his  radical  theories  and  his  fanaticism 
so  far  as  to  make  her  forgetful  of  her  rank?  How- 
ever that  might  be,  the  delicate  and  difficult  task 
was  before  the  baron  of  making  these  persons  remem- 
ber it.  Without  wounding  their  sensibilities  he  must 
yet  put  them  in  their  proper  places  by  showing  them 
Florian  Zuleski's  daughter  in  hers.  He  said,  after 
a  pause,  choosing  his  words  very  carefully: 

"It  is  time  to  clear  up  certain  things  which,  for 
reasons  of  her  own,  Miss  Fabre  thought  best  to  leave 
in — shall  we  say  a  nebulous  state?  I  think  it  is  due 
you,  who  have  been  so  extremely  kind  to  her,  to  know 
that  you  have  been  sheltering  the  Countess  Marya 
Jadwiga  Zuleska,  Count  Florian  Zuleski's  daughter 
— his  only  child,  in  fact,  and  the  last  of  an  illustrious 
family.  Not  only  through  her  father,  but  through 
her  mother,  she  is  related  to  the  noblest  houses  of  Po- 
land. There  is  no  older  or  more  aristocratic  family 
in  Europe  than  the  Zuleski." 

He  watched  the  policeman  while  he  spoke.  The 
policeman  did  not  seem  unduly  impressed ;  nor  did  the 
Callaghan  boy,  John.  Miss  Honora  said,  reflectively, 
"She  is  a  sweet  child,  title  or  no  title."  Upon  the 
others  the  announcement  had  varying  effects. 
Colette  0 'Shane  said  softly:  "We  are  glad  to  have 
you  tell  us,  Baron.  But — we  couldn't  care  for  her 
more  than  we  do  already.  She  is  herself,  to  us." 
She  turned  to  Brian  Kelly,  and  patted  his  hand. 
"What  difference  could  it  make  to  us  whether  her 
name  is  Fabre  or  Zuleska — or — or  something  else?" 


THE  COP  AND  THE  COUNTESS        367 

"It  must  make  a  great  deal  of  difference,  Miss 
O 'Shane,"  said  the  baron,  gently.  "Because — she 
must  go  back,  live  among  her  own  people,  take  her 
proper  place  in  her  own  sphere.  There  are  no  titles 
in  your  happy,  republican  America.  So  you  could 
hardly  realize  what  it  really  means — let  us  say,  in 
my  less  democratic  fatherland — to  be,  not  Miss  Fabre, 
but  the  Countess  Zuleska.  Her  father  was  a  fanatic, 
a  dangerous  revolutionary,  a  visionary;  but,  for  all 
that,  he  was  a  nobleman,  and  of  a  very  proud  and 
ancient  house." 

"Perhaps  I  shouldn't  understand,  if  she  had  been 
'somebody  else,  somebody  different  from — Marya 
Jadwiga,"  said  Colette.  "But  you  see,  I  know 
Marya  Jadwiga.  We  didn't  love  and  trust  her  for 
a  title's  sake,  Baron:  we  loved  and  trusted  her  for 
herself.  She  understood.  So  do  we.  Why,  then, 
should  anything  make  a  difference  in  our  regard  for 
her,  or  in  hers  for  us  ? " 

' '  She  is  very  na'ive,  very  unworldly,  the  little  coun- 
tess," said  the  baron,  indulgently.  "That  is  one 
reason  I  have  thought  best  to  tell  you  the  truth  about 
her — so  that  you  may  bring  your  fine  American  com- 
mon sense  to  bear,  and  make  her  see  that  the  right 
thing  for  her  to  do  is  to  leave  this  country  in  which 
she  really  has  no  place,  and  return  to  her  own  sphere. 
She  owes  that  much  to  her  name. ' ' 

"Her  name  wouldn't  have  saved  her  from — 
from — "  said  Miss  Honora,  trembling.  "That 
horrible  woman  knew  what  and  who  she  was,  and  yet 
she—" 


368  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

' '  But  that  is  exactly  the  point  I  wish  to  bring  out ! 
Her  name  could  n  't  and  would  n  't  save  her  that,  here. 
But  over  there,  it  simply  could  not  have  happened! 
The  woman  wouldn't  have  dreamed  of  committing 
such  a  crime  against  the  Countess  Zuleska!  As  for 
the  elderly  person,  she  would  never  have  come  in 
contact  with  him.  Even  if  she  had,  he  would  never 
have  dared  consider  the  Countess  Zuleska  in  the  light 
of  a  possible  victim.  You  will  perceive  why  I  say  she 
must  go  back  to  her  own  place. ' ' 

"You  mean  we  have  n't  been  able  to  protect  her?" 
asked  Miss  Honora.  "But  you  are  her  friend,  too. 
You  haven't  been  able  to  protect  her,  either;  have 
you?'' 

"Here?  No,  dear  lady.  Over  there,  yes.  Very 
emphatically,  yes." 

Dominick,  sitting  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
looked  at  his  son  thoughtfully. 

He  might  have  remembered  the  boy 's  taste ! 
Nothing  but  the  best  for  the  Kellys!  Dominick 
considered  the  baron,  too,  listening  very  attentively 
while  that  aristocratic  person  put  them  all  in  their 
proper  places. 

"But,"  said  Miss  Honora,  "suppose  the  dear 
girl  prefers  to  stay  here,  Baron?  Suppose  she 
doesn't  want  to  go  back — over  there?  I  have 
good  reasons  for  thinking  she  prefers  to  stay." 

The  baron  tried  not  to  look  as  annoyed  as  he  felt. 
It  irritated  him,  as  might  a  splinter  in  the  finger,  to 
have  these  people  assume  such  a  thing. 

"I  trust,  dear  Miss  Kelly,  that  you  will  consider 


THE  COP  AND  THE  COUNTESS        369 

the  case  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  countess's  best 
interests,"  said  he,  gravely.  He  looked  at  Miss 
Honora  with  unsmiling  blue  eyes;  and  suddenly  she 
saw  herself  and  hers  from  the  baron's  point  of  view! 
Worried  as  she  was,  a  faint  smile  touched  her  lips. 

"I  should  always  try  to  do  that,  of  course,"  said 
she,  gently.  "But  we  might  have  different  ideas  as 
to  what  her  best  interests  are;  mightn't  we?  And 
so  might  she,"  she  added,  her  eyes  on  Brian  Kelly. 

"I  am  sure  she  has,"  said  Colette  O 'Shane. 

"We  will  waive  that,"  said  the  baron,  stiffly. 

"But  I  'm  afraid  you  won't  be  able  to,"  said 
Colette. 

"That  remains  to  be  seen.  In  the  meantime — " 
the  baron  turned  to  the  silent  Dominick — "  if  you 
are  sure  you  understand  the  situation,  and  you  have 
any  influence,  I  beg  you  to  use  it — immediately. 
The  case  is  serious.  The  countess  is  a  Russian  sub- 
ject; she  is  liable  to  arrest  and  deportation  as  a  spy. 
My  men  may  not  have  too  great  difficulty  in  locating 
her.  The  thing  is,  to  get  her  when  we  find  her." 

Dominick  stood  up.    He  looked  at  his  son. 

"D5  ye  want  my  help,  Officer  Kelly?" 

Brian  looked  at  his  father. 

"Yes,  Dad.  I  'd  have  gone  to  you  and  asked  for 
it,  if  Aunt  Hon  hadn't." 

' '  Oh,  would  you !  Now  tell  me  this :  are  you  serious 
about  this  girl?  Is  your  mind  altogether  made  up? 
And  are  you  sure  of  her  ?  She  '11  be  feeling  the  same 
way  about  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  and  his  head  went 


370  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

up.  He  seemed  about  to  say  more,  but  checked  him- 
self abruptly. 

"You  've  heard  what  the  German  gentleman  says? 
That  herself  's  above  you,  you  being  a — a  cop,  and 
herself  a  countess?  And  still  you  're  sure?" 

"I  Ve  heard  what  he  says, ' '  said  Policeman  Kelly. 
"What  difference  could  it  make  to  me  what  anybody 
says?  She  is  herself;  I  am  myself;  that  's  all  that 
counts  with  her  and  me ! ' ' 

' '  Ach,  no,  my  romantic  young  friend ! ' '  put  in  the 
baron,  softly — and  wished  he  might  run  this  imper- 
tinent person  through,  and  have  done  with  fool- 
ish talk.  "She  is,  as  you  say,  herself;  and  you 
are — yourself;  and  therein  lies  all  the  difference  in 
the  world!" 

Dominick  regarded  the  baron  speculatively. 

"But  why,  now?"  he  asked,  so  quietly  that  Miss 
Honora  pricked  up  her  ears.  When  Dominick  talked 
like  that,  something  was  always  bound  to  happen ! 
"  Is  it  that  he  being  what  he  is — a  cop — and  she  being 
what  she  is — a  countess — he  can't  have  her,  nor  she 
him,  even  if  they  want  each  other  ? ' ' 

"It  is  exactly  that,  sir,"  said  the  baron,  politely. 
' '  Thank  you  for  putting  it  into  plain  words :  I  found 
it  somewhat  difficult.  But  now  that  you  have  said 
it  for  me,  let  me  emphasize  the  truth:  the  Countess 
Marya  Jadwiga  Zuleska  must  marry  in  her  own 
class."  And  he  added,  with  a  bow  which  included 
them  all:  "Nothing  is  further  from  my  thoughts 
than  giving  offense.  But — you  will  see  the  truth." 

"And  now  I  hope  you  see  it  for  yourself,  my  fine 


THE  COP  AND  THE  COUNTESS        371 

fella!"  said  Dominick  to  his  son.  "You  will  be  a 
cop,  and  you  will  have  nothing  short  of  a  countess, 
glory  he  to  God!  Though  I  'm  told,"  he  conceded, 
"by  the  commissioner,  that  he  's  seen  worse  than 
you.  And  that  being  that,"  he  mused,  "I  don't  see 
why  you  should  n  't  have  the  girl,  if  she  wants  you. ' ' 

The  baron  made  a  gesture  of  despair.  Then  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It  is  not  to  be  thought  of ! "  he  protested. 

"I'm  thinking  of  it,"  said  Dominick.  "Has  the 
girl  near  relations,  please?  And  are  you  one,  or 
only  a  friend?" 

"She  has  no  immediate  family.  Her  father  was 
an  only  son ;  she  is  an  only  daughter.  I  ?  I  had  the 
honor  of  the  noble  Count  Florian's  acquaintance.  I 
may  say  I  knew  him  somewhat  intimately.  I  have 
known  his  daughter  for  several  years." 

"No  immediate  relatives.    Any  fortune?" 

' '  Her  father  was  a  scientist  of  renown,  a  writer,  an 
authority.  I  could  not  say,  however,  what  the  count- 
ess's fortune  might  or  might  not  be." 

"We  '11  say,  then,  no  fortune.  But  a  title?  A 
genuine  title?" 

The  baron  prayed  inwardly  for  patience. 

"The  Zuleski  titles  have  been  considered  genuine 
for  several  centuries, ' '  said  he,  frigidly.  ' '  They  have 
always  made  alliances  with  other  very  noble  houses. 
They  have  never  encouraged  mesalliances.  There 
was  once  a  question  of  a  morganatic  marriage  with 
a  reigning  house.  The  Zuleski  refused  to  sanction  it, 
and  put  the  young  lady  in  a  convent."  Would 


372  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

nothing  make  these  people  understand?  They  were 
impossible ! 

"Well,  times  have  changed,  praise  be  to  God!"  said 
Dominick.  He  looked  at  Policeman  Kelly,  critically. 
"Faith,  she  might  go  further  and  fare  worse!"  said 
he,  "unless — "  here  his  shrewd  glance  studied  the 
baron — "unless  you  're  thinkin'  of  her  for  your- 
self?" 

Rittenheim  stiffened.  His  lack  of  humor,  his 
ever-present  sense  of  his  own  social  and  cultural 
superiority,  limited  him.  He  looked  at  Dominick 
with  an  air  of  hauteur: 

"Pardon  me:  but  that  is  not  to  be  discussed  for 
a  moment!" 

As  Miss  Honora  had  seen  herself  as  the  baron  saw 
her,  so  Dominick  saw  himself  from  the  same  point 
of  view.  His  first  sensation  was  one  of  astonishment : 
this  fellow  was  looking  down  on  him,  Dominick 
Kelly!  Nobody  had  ever  looked  at  him  like  that 
before.  He  was  used  to  power,  to  respect,  even  to 
fear.  He  was  not  used  to  being  spoken  to  as  this 
blond  aristocrat  had  just  spoken  to  him.  Faith, 
you  'd  think  he  'd  broken  one  of  the  greater  laws  of 
God  by  merely  mentioning  the  man  as  if  he  were 
human,  like  the  rest  of  us!  Dominick 's  brows  drew 
together.  He  was  mortally  offended.  After  a  mo- 
ment he  said,  swallowing  his  wrath : 

' '  That  leaves  you  out,  then.  So,  as  there  's  nobody 
else,  if  the  policeman  wants  her,  and  she  wants  the 
policeman,  there 's  no  reason,  barrin'  a  bit  of 


THE  COP  AND  THE  COUNTESS        373 

a  beggarly  title,  why  he  shouldn't  have  her.  And 
that  's  that!" 

For,  after  all,  the  policeman  was  Dominick  Kelly's 
son.  He  'd  like  to  see  any  baron  or  countess  of  them 
all  too  good  for  the  Kellys !  Looked  at  him  as  though 
he  were  the  dirt  beneath  his  feet,  did  he?  "Not 
to  be  thought  of."  Oh,  then,  wasn't  it?  He'd 
show  this  fine  popinjay  of  a  German  whether  he 
could  behave  like  that  to  Dominick  Kelly  and  get 
away  with  it !  Brian  wanted  his  countess  ?  Well,  be- 
god,  he  should  have  her! 

Dominick  went  out  into  the  hall,  and  grabbed  the 
telephone. 

"This  is  Mr.  Dominick  Kelly."  He  called  several 
numbers,  and  spoke  briefly,  and  with  authority. 
Within  ten  minutes  the  wheels  of  the  law  began  to 
move  with  rapidity;  the  Borough  of  Manhattan  be- 
came a  dragnet. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

GOD — AND  BRIAN  KELLY 

'\"1T  THY  did  you  come  to  this  country,  'Miss' 
\/\/  Fabre?"  The  large  man  sitting  behind 
'-  the  mahogany  desk  slurred  the  name 
'"Fabre"  significantly.  He  wore  a  green  shade,  and 
under  it  his  eyes  lurked  like  wary  animals.  His 
large,  sound  teeth  looked  whiter  because  of  a  dense 
blue-black  beard,  which  he  liked  to  stroke  with  a 
fat  hand.  He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  negligently 
while  he  addressed  Marya  Jadwiga,  standing  before 
him.  The  two  had  the  room  to  themselves.  He 
spoke  in  French,  liking  to  display  his  knowledge  of 
the  language. 

"My  father  said,  'go,'  and  we  went.  He  was 
about  to  die.  He  did  not  wish  us  to  remain  in  that 
old  house — afterward,"  she  repeated. 

"Excellent  idea — sending  you  away  at  the  psy- 
chological moment.  Very  thoughtful  man,  Zuleski. 
But  why  give  your  departure  the  appearance  of 
flight?" 

"If  my  father  were  living,  Monsieur,  he  might 
answer  that  question.  But  he  is  dead." 

"If  your  father  were  living,  Mademoiselle,  he 
would  be  called  upon  to  answer  that  question,  as 

374 


GOD— AND  BRIAN  KELLY  375 

well  as  several  other  questions."  said  the  man. 
"However,  you  are  living;  and  there  are  several  ques- 
tions we  should  like  you  to  answer.  For  instance: 
What  did  you  give  Rittenheim?" 

"Nothing." 

' '  What  did  you  give  some  one  of  his  agents,  then  ? ' ' 

"Nothing." 

"You  expect  us  to  believe  you?" 

"I  do  not  see  why  you  should  not,  since  it  is  the 
truth." 

"  '  What  is  the  truth  f  "  quoted  the  man,  cynically. 

"The  Man  to  whom  that  question  was  put  was 
Truth,  Monsieur,"  she  reminded  him. 

He  stroked  his  beard.  After  a  pause  he  asked, 
pleasantly  enough: 

"Your  father  had  several  conferences  with  Rit- 
tenheim,  didn't  he?" 

"The  Herr  Baron  stopped  at  our  house  on  his 
way  to  the  Rosen  estate.  I  did  hear  conversations 
between  him  and  my  father,  once  or  twice." 

"Ah,  you  did?  And  the  subject  of  those  conversa- 
tions?" 

' '  They  spoke  of  modern  novelists,  dramatists,  poets, 
Monsieur,"  said  she,  seriously.  "I  think  the  Herr 
Baron  was  not  pleased  that  my  father  should  prefer 
the  Russian  writers." 

' '  Ach !  I  begin  to  think  you  are  clever ! ' '  admitted 
the  Russian,  ironically.  "And  were  there  no  other 
conversations,  Mademoiselle  ? ' ' 

"I  was  not  present  at  any  others,"  she  told  him. 

"You  say  your  father  sent  you  away  because  he 


376  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

knew  he  was  about  to  die.  Didn't  he  really 
send  you  because  he  knew  he  was  about  to  be 
arrested  ? — because  he  knew  there  would  be  war,  and 
he  had  certain  information,  certain  documents,  he 
wished  to  pass  on  to  his  good  friends  the  Germans  ? ' ' 

"But  my  father  had  long  been  expecting  war. 
Ever  since  I  was  a  small  child,  I  have  heard  him 
prophesying  war.  Every  year  he  was  more  certain 
of  it.  He  did  not  think  it  required  much  foresight 
to  foretell  war  in  Europe.  He  said  it  was  inevitable 
because  in  all  Europe  there  was  not  one  real  states- 
man; not  even  one  politician  of  more  than  third-rate 
ability." 

The  Russian  grimaced. 

"I  see.  Leaving  that  aside,  with  whom  were  his 
sympathies?  Whose  side  did  he  expect  to  take?" 

' '  I  did  not  know  that  he  expected  to  take  sides.  He 
wished  to  see  our  country  free.  He  said  that  when  a 
people  possesses  the  will-to-freedom,  one  might  cal- 
culate the  result  mathematically;  though  it  be  de- 
layed, it  is  none  the  less  inevitable." 

"And  he  regarded  himself  as  an  agent  to  arouse 
this  will-to-freedom — or,  rather,  will-to-revolution? 
That  is  what  we  have  learned,"  said  the  Russian, 
still  ironical. 

"You  yourself  would  do  the  same  for  your  country, 
Monsieur;  would  you  not?" 

"I,  Mademoiselle?  I  am  out  of  the  reckoning.  It 
is  of  your  father  we  speak.  But  I  don't  mind  telling 
you,  in  passing,  that  I  would  not  help  my  country 


GOD— AND  BRIAN  KELLY  377 

toward  destruction.  And  that  is  what  your  father 
was  doing  for  Poland ;  trying  to  persuade  her  to  de- 
stroy herself  irremediably." 

Marya  Jadwiga  made  no  reply.  He  asked,  then, 
abruptly : 

"You  understand,  of  course,  why  we  have  brought 
you  here?" 

"It  would  seem  to  be  to  ask  me  irrelevant  ques- 
tions," she  replied. 

"We  must  try,  then,  to  make  ourselves  more  direct. 
So !  You  were  sent  here  as  Zuleski's  agent,  were  you 
not?" 

"I  am  here  as  his  daughter,  Monsieur,"  said  she, 
with  dignity.  His  tone  had  been  overbearing. 

"And  he  gave  you  certain  papers,  for  certain 
German  agents.  Eittenheim  was  to  manage  the 
affair;  and  Rittenheim  is  in  this  country  now,  and 
has  seen  you.  (Czadowska  overheard  the  conver- 
sation— let  's  call  it  the  trade — in  the  room  next  to 
your  father's  library.  The  serving-woman  Josika 
placed  him  there.)  You  left  home  with  Wences- 
laus,  since  deceased;  the  gipsy  Wincenty  guided  you 
for  a  certain  distance.  Now,  what  have  you  done 
with  those  papers,  Mademoiselle?  When  did  you 
deliver  them  to  the  German?" 

"I  have  never  delivered  any  papers  +o  any  German, 
Monsieur.  I  have  no  papers  to  deliver  to  Germans — 
or  anybody  else." 

"You  know  what  's  going  on  over  yonder,"  said 
the  man  at  the  desk,  and  his  dark  face  grew  darker. 


378  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

"It  is  wasted  breath  to  shriek  right  and  wrong :  it  's 
here.  We  have  to  face  it."  He  looked  at  her 
steadily.  "My  country  has  its  enemies,  Mademoi- 
selle. It  is  quite  useless  to  say,  'We  have  made 
them;  they  are  right,  we  are  wrong.'  There  is  but 
one  thing  for  us  to  do — to  protect  ourselves  from 
them.  We  are  considering  one  of  the  worst  of  these 
enemies,  your  father.  For  years  he  eluded  us,  or, 
rather  (except  for  Czadowska;  don't  forget  Czadow- 
ska)  he  hoodwinked  us.  There  sat  the  professor  of 
astronomy  and  philology,  in  his  old  tower,  and,  right 
under  our  noses,  spun  his  webs.  Only  Czadowska 
was  not  satisfied.  Well!  Czadowska  finally  got  at 
him  through  the  woman  Josika,  and  we  learned  then 
that  he  planned  to  betray  us  to  the  Germans.  He 
promised — clever  old  spider  that  he  was — to  give  us 
certain  threads  he  had  spun,  certain  flies  he  had 
caught.  We  believed  him.  Until  Czadowska  caught 
him,  we  believed  him !  Now  we  know  that  he  was  in 
the  pay  of  Germany.  No,"  as  she  made  a  quick 
motion  as  though  to  speak,  "we  are  not  mistaken: 
Monsieur  Czadowska  got  the  evidence.  Couldn't  be 
mistaken.  Never  is  mistaken." 

Marya  Jadwiga  knew  that  Czadowska  had  not  been 
mistaken.  She  made  no  further  attempt  to  explain. 
What  was  there  to  explain?  She  reflected  that  she 
knew  almost  nothing  of  the  extent  of  her  father's 
plans  or  affiliations.  She  was  only  beginning 
to  understand  what  part  he  had  intended  her  to  play  ; 
she  was  to  have  been  another  weapon  in  his  hands, 


GOD— AND  BRIAN  KELLY  379 

one  that  he  had  forged  and  sharpened  against  this 
hour  of  need. 

If  he  had  lived,  she  thought,  perhaps  he  would 
have  altered  those  plans,  or  used  other  agents,  know- 
ing that  her  heart  was  not  in  this  work,  that  her  soul 
revolted.  She  would  not  aid  his  enemies,  but  she 
would  not  injure.  She  thought,  sorrowfully,  that 
her  father  had  overestimated  her:  she  was  not 
clever,  as  his  daughter  should  have  been.  One  might 
think  she  had  been  Wenceslaus's  daughter,  not  Flo- 
rian  Zuleski  's.  Perhaps,  Out  There,  God  would  make 
her  father  understand  this.  And  forgive  it. 

Calmly,  unafraid,  serene,  she  waited  for  the  Rus- 
sian to  have  his  say.  In  his  turn,  he  studied  her. 
Difficult  people  to  deal  with,  these  Poles.  Couldn't 
bend  or  break  them.  He  wondered  how  much  this 
girl  knew.  "Well,  it  was  worth  finding  out !  Now 
that  Zuleski  was  dead,  there  was  but  one  way  to  get 
at  what  they  wished  to  learn,  and  that  was  through 
his  daughter.  She  would  have  to  talk. 

''Let  us  return  to  those  documents  your  father 
intrusted  to  you:  "When  did  you  give  them  to  the 
German?" 

"I  have  told  you  that  I  did  not  give  anything  to 
any  German.  I  have  nothing  for  any  German." 

"No?  Rittenheim  called  on  you  in  Charlton 
Street!" 

"Yes,  the  Herr  Baron  came  to  see  me." 

"And  you  didn't  give  him  the  papers?"  incred- 
ulously. 


380 

"No,  Monsieur,  I  have  nothing  for  him." 

' '  You  have  not  ?    For  whom,  then  ? ' ' 

"For  nobody." 

"Not  even  for  us?"  said  he,  smiling  evilly. 
His  voice  held  a  purring  mockery.  "Come!  Re- 
flect. You  were  to  deliver  to  us  a  certain  little 
packet  when  we  gave  you  the  password,  'Serajevo,' 
were  you  not?  And  you  will  not  carry  out  that 
pretty  little  plan,  and  take  our  excellent  and  very 
substantial  bank  notes  in  exchange — to  be  used 
against  us  a  little  later?  Oh,  Mademoiselle,  surely 
you  won 't  spoil  the  play ! ' ' 

Marya  Jadwiga  was  weary,  and  he  had  allowed 
her  to  stand  while  he  questioned  her.  She  had  been 
forced  here  against  her  will,  and  now  he  was  mock- 
ing her.  Her  lips  came  together  firmly,  and  some- 
thing of  Florian  Zuleski  himself  looked  out  of  her 
eyes.  The  man  recognized  the  signs,  and  his  smile 
deepened.  She  intrigued  him.  Her  fineness,  her  look 
of  high  breeding,  her  dauntlessness,  gave  him  the  curi- 
ous inverted  pleasure  of  the  cruel.  Breaking  such 
a  one  as  this  would  be  a  very  interesting  experience ! 

"We  know  why  you  left  Lanska's  house;  and  what 
happened  in  that  very  fine  house  to  which  your 
friend  conducted  you,"  said  the  man  at  the  desk, 
musingly.  "That  is  one  reason  why,"  he  smiled 
openly,  "you  were  searched  before  you  were  allowed 
to  see  me.  A  simple  matter  of  precaution." 

She  flushed.  She  had  indeed  been  subjected  to  a 
humiliatingly  thorough  search.  Her  heart  grew  hot 
at  the  thought  of  that  search.  She  had  been  turned 


GOD— AND  BRIAN  KELLY  381 

over  to  two  women,  and  the  men  had  stood  just  out- 
side the  door.  And  the  women  had  subjected  her  to 
indignities  that  time  could  never  efface  from  her 
memory.  It  seemed  to  her  that  her  soul  itself  had 
been  stripped  and  outraged  by  those  hands  upon  her. 

"Monsieur,  if  I  were  of  an  evil  and  cruel  heart, 
of  a  wicked  soul,  I  should  say  I  hoped  your  wife, 
your  mother,  your  sister,  your  young  daughter,  any 
woman  dear  and  sacred  to  you — I  suppose  that  there 
may  be  some  woman  sacred  even  to  you,  Monsieur  ? — 
might  be  subjected  to  such  indignity  as  I  was  called 
upon  to  suffer."  She  spoke  too  directly,  too  sternly 
for  him  to  continue  to  smile.  He  said  doggedly : 

"But,  Mademoiselle! — the  exigencies  of  the  case, 
you  understand !  Suppose,  now,  we  had  allowed  you 
to  retain  that  very  effective  knife  of  yours?  You 
had  used  it  already  to  quite  good  purpose :  how  should 
one  know  that  you  wouldn't  do  so  again?  No, 
no,  you  mustn't  blame  us.  Place  the  blame  where  it 
lies — with  Florian  Zuleski,  who  sent  you  hither." 

She  knew  she  had  been  searched  for  more  than  that 
knife.  But,  thank  God,  they  had  found  nothing  but 
that. 

"And  now  to  get  back  to  business:  What  have 
you  done  with  the  package  for  the  German?"  he 
reiterated. 

"I  have  no  package  for  any  German,"  wearily. 

"You  have  already  given  it  to  him?" 

"No." 

"You  intend  to  deliver  it,  then?" 

"No." 


382  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

He  consulted  some  papers  on  his  desk. 

"Czadowska's  report  is  very  explicit.  He  over- 
heard the  agreement :  the  papers  were  to  be  delivered 
to  Rittenheim 's  agents  here  in  New  York,  by  you. 
There  was  a  payment  of  money  to  your  father. 
Czadowska  secured  that.  Now,  Countess,  I  trust  you 
will  not  force  me  to  adopt — other  methods.  What 
did  you  do  with  the  papers  ?  Where  are  the  papers  ? ' ' 

"I  have  no  papers — none — for  anybody,"  she 
repeated  stubbornly. 

"When  did  you  deliver  them?" 

"I  have  not  delivered  them." 

He  regarded  her  for  several  moments,  as  though 
considering.  He  asked  politely: 

"You  refuse  to  explain,  then,  Countess?" 

She  was  silent. 

"Do  you  know  the  fate  of  a  spy?"  he  asked. 

"Death,"  said  she  composedly.  "Are  you  trying 
to  make  me  out  a  spy,  Monsieur?  Do  you  need  an 
excuse  to  murder  another  of  the  ZulesM?"  This 
scornfully. 

"No.  I  am  trying  to  give  you  an  opportunity  to 
prove  that  you  aren't,"  he  returned  evenly.  "You 
must  admit  appearances  are  against  you.  All  the  evi- 
dence is  against  you.  Come  now,  confess.  You  may 
as  well.  The  game  's  up,  Countess." 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling  faintly.  She  said 
gently : 

"But  I  have  told  you,  Monsieur,  that  I  gave  noth- 
ing, I  have  nothing.  Not  for  the  Germans.  Not 
for  you.  Not  for  anybody.  It  is  useless  for  you  to 


GOD— AND  BRIAN  KELLY  383 

question  me  further.     I  have  said  all  I  have  to  say." 

"You  are  a  Russian  subject,  a  German  spy,  sent 
here  by  an  arch  traitor  to  sell  us  to  our  enemies." 
His  lip  tightened,  his  voice  took  a  hard  edge.  "And 
in  a  time  like  this  a  spy  gets  short  sympathy  and 
shorter  shift.  We  shall  deport  you,  of  course." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  said  she,  composedly.  "I 
am  not  a  Russian  subject. ' ' 

He  laughed.    But  she  repeated  stubbornly: 

"I  have  told  you.  Now  I  warn  you:  I  am  not 
Russian ;  I  was  never  Russian,  I  who  was  born  a  Pole ! 
But  now  I  am  American." 

"I  'm  afraid  you  couldn't  prove  that  to  the  satis- 
faction of  those  who  will  pass  upon  your  case,"  said 
he.  "So,  we  '11  take  it  for  granted  you  are  legally 
a  Russian  subject,  amenable  to  the  laws  of  the  em- 
pire. You  will  be  deported.  Very  quietly.  There 
will  be  no  disagreeable  publicity;  we  will  see  to  that. 
And  presently  you  will  be  tried  and  judged  accord- 
ing to  the  evidence  Monsieur  Czadowska  obtained. 
In  the  meantime,  Countess,  I  offer  you  a  last  op- 
portunity to  explain  yourself.  There  may  be  clem- 
ency if  you  confess. ' ' 

"I  have  nothing  to  confess." 

"I  'm  afraid  we  shall  have  to — persuade  you  some- 
what," said  he.  "Come,  Countess!  Don't  make  it 
too  unpleasant — for  us  both ! ' ' 

"I  have  said  what  I  have  to  say,"  said  she,  reso- 
lutely. 

"As  you  will!"  said  he,  and  touched  a  button  on 
his  desk.  A  soft-footed  man,  dressed  in  a  blouse, 


384  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

entered  the  room,  and  stood  at  attention.  The  man 
at  the  desk  had  picked  up  some  papers,  and  was  en- 
gaged in  giving  them  a  careful  reading,  as  though  he 
wished  to  be  quite  sure. 

He  looked  up,  presently,  and  nodded  once  in  Marya 
Jadwiga's  direction,  and  with  a  stealthy,  tiger-like 
pounce  the  soft-footed  man  was  behind  her  and 
had  grasped  her  by  both  elbows.  She  made  no  out- 
cry, no  protest,  no  complaint ;  she  merely  braced  her 
small  body.  The  man  at  the  desk  watched  her 
thoughtfully.  This  time  a  critical  appraisal  of  her 
personal  appearance  was  in  his  look. 

' '  I  am  almost  sorry  you  are  so  pretty,  and  so  young. 
It  may  make  things  a  little  difficult  for  you,  later.  A 
pretty  girl  who  is  at  the  same  time  a  spy,  in  time  of 
war — it  is  possible  you  may  be  kept  some  time  in 
prison — quite  possible.  And,  as  I  observe,  you  are 
unfortunately  pretty." 

He  spoke  slowly,  with  long  pauses  between  his  sen- 
tences, as  though  his  mind  were  conjuring  up  just 
what  things  might  happen  to  a  girl  who  was  a  spy, 
and  unfortunately  pretty.  She  could  not  fail  to 
understand  his  meaning.  A  threat  as  well  as  a  warn- 
ing. And  he  added,  with  a  fleeting  smile : 

"And  you  will  not  have  that  handy  little  knife  of 
yours.  You  will  be  quite — defenseless." 

"God  remains,  Monsieur,"  said  Marya  Jadwiga, 
simply. 

"God  remains  indifferent,"  said  the  bureaucrat, 
and  he  quoted:  "  'God  is  high  above  and  the  Tsar 
is  far  away.'  " 


GOD— AND  BRIAN  KELLY  385 

" Tsars  come  and  go,  Monsieur.  God  remains," 
said  Marya  Jadwiga,  steadily. 

The  man  at  the  desk  made  a  slight  gesture.  Marya 
Jadwiga  felt  her  arms  twisted,  it  was  as  though  they 
were  being  wrenched  out  of  their  sockets.  A  cry  of 
pain  escaped  her.  The  man  mishandling  her  began 
to  speak  in  a  growling  voice.  He  was  more  used  to 
handling  men  than  women.  He  did  not  like  to  handle 
women — particularly  women  no  larger  than  children. 
His  grasp  upon  her  loosened,  but  did  not  release  her. 
He  looked  over  her  head,  scowlingly.  He  had  heard 
her  whisper  a  prayer.  In  his  time  and  work  he  had 
heard  many  crying  out;  but  somehow  this  one,  so 
very  little,  so  soft,  so  like  a  child — 

The  man  at  the  desk  frowned.  He  disliked  any 
signs  of  weakening,  in  his  subordinates.  They  were 
losing  their  usefulness  when  they  exhibited  feeling. 
He  had  not  expected  feeling  here. 

"You  may  have  to  suffer  for  this,  yourself,"  he 
warned.  "You  know  your  duty!" 

"I  live,"  said  the  other.  "Whoever  lives  suffers. 
Why  not?"  And  at  another  nod  he  twisted  Marya 
Jadwiga 's  arms  again,  but  half-heartedly.  Had  he 
exerted  his  strength  he  could  have  dismembered  her. 
Her  breath  came  in  panting  gasps,  and  sweat  ran 
down  her  white  cheeks.  In  all  her  healthy  life  she 
had  never  before  known  pain.  What  was  happening 
to  her  was  all  new  to  her.  To  be  stripped  and 
searched — and  then — this!  When  they  brought  her 
here,  she  had  expected  to  be  questioned,  perhaps  even 
to  be  sent  out  of  America,  if  they  could  manage  it 


386  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

without  publicity ;  but  she  had  not  expected  this — not 
in  America. 

"Now,"  said  the  man  at  the  desk,  "are  you  ready 
to  talk,  Countess?  'Who  can  sing  and  won't  sing 
must  be  made  to  sing, '  remember.  What  have  you  to 
say?" 

"Nothing."  In  a  firmer  voice:  "Nothing!  noth- 
ing!" Did  they  think  to  break  her  thus?  No! 
They  could  do  what  they  chose  to  her.  But  they 
could  not  make  her  yield.  Her  healthy  body  winced 
at  the  pain  inflicted  upon  it;  her  spirit  lifted  its 
head  unafraid.  The  very  soul  of  Poland  looked  at 
her  tormentor  out  of  Marya  Jadwiga's  eyes. 

He  paid  her  the  tribute  of  admiration.  He  had 
not  the  faintest  twinge  of  compunction.  He  meant 
to  make  her  tell  him  what  he  wished  to  know,  or  to 
break  her  in  the  attempt.  That  is  what  he  had  been 
sent  to  America  for.  But  her  courage  pleased  him; 
it  made  the  case  more  interesting,  lent  it  a  fillip  of 
excitement.  To  deal  with  cringing,  frightened 
wretches  who  shrieked  and  betrayed — there  was  no 
intellectual  interest  there!  But  to  meet  one  of  the 
eagle  breed,  and  break  its  skyey  pinions — that  pleased 
him!  And  he  hated  Poles — rebellious,  treacherous, 
unstable.  All  one  could  do  was  to  kill  them.  The 
ironical  French  proverb  "What  a  wicked  animal! 
It  fights  when  it  is  attacked ! ' '  must  have  been  coined 
for  Poles  in  particular.  But  the  way  they  would 
fight  back,  with  the  odds  against  them,  their  backs 
to  the  wall,  their  faces  to  the  scaffold — that 
was  amusing!  It  was  almost  as  fine  as  tiger-hunting 


GOD— AND  BRIAN  KELLY  387 

when  it  came  to  one  like  Zuleski;  and  tremendously 
interesting,  when  one  considered  the  little  count- 
ess. 

He  watched  her  carefully.  He  did  not  intend  that 
she  should  really  be  injured.  The  man  who  attended 
to  this  sort  of  thing  for  them  was  really  very  clever : 
he  almost  never  broke  bones,  but  whoever  passed 
through  his  hands  always  held  him  in  vivid  remem- 
brance. He  had  heard  men  scream  aloud  at  the 
bare  sight  of  him. 

This  girl  had  been  subjected,  deliberately,  to  a  long 
strain,  before  resort  was  had  to  persuasion.  She  had 
been  taken  to  one  house,  thence  to  another,  and  lastly 
fetched  to  this  quiet  old  house  whose  back  windows 
gave  upon  the  blank  brick  walls  of  a  large  warehouse. 
She  had  been  allowed  to  sleep  but  little  last  night. 
Then  she  had  been  wakened  and  brought  here  at 
dawn. 

For  all  its  dingy  exterior,  the  house  was  well  cared 
for  inside,  and  had  the  air  of  being  inhabited  by 
men  mindful  of  their  comfort.  The  women  Marya 
Jadwiga  had  met  there  were  of  a  lower  order  than 
the  men — women  of  the  prison-matron  type,  cold, 
methodical,  without  compassion,  almost  without  sex, 
as  befits  the  female  of  the  species  who  is  trained  to 
play  the  role  of  handmaid  to  the  hangman.  They 
had  dealt  with  Marya  Jadwiga  with  drastic  thor- 
oughness. Until  she  died  she  would  remember  those 
remorseless  women.  She  was  infinitely  less  afraid 
of  the  man  who  twisted  her  arms,  than  of  those 
women  who  she  thought  twisted  one's  soul  and 


388  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

trampled  with  brutal  feet  upon  sanctities  which 
should  be  inviolate. 

When  they  finished  with  her  she  had  been  left  quite 
alone  for  hours.  The  long,  long  day  wore  away. 
In  the  room  where  she  was  locked  there  were  no  pic- 
tures on  the  walls,  no  papers,  nothing.  She  sat  on 
an  uncomfortable  chair,  and  waited  for  what  should 
come  next.  Being  a  simple  soul,  and  in  many  ways 
highly  unmodern,  she  prayed — for  courage,  and  to 
be  guided  aright.  Keeping  pace  with  her  prayers 
went  the  consoling  thought  of  Brian  Kelly.  She  had 
deliberately  remained  silent  concerning  Brian,  be- 
cause she  feared  for  him.  She  knew  the  temper  of 
the  men  into  whose  hands  she  had  fallen,  and  what 
stakes  they  played  for.  If  they  thought  Brian  had 
power  to  interfere  with  their  plans,  they  would  not 
scruple  to  remove  him — as  Wenceslaus  had  been  re- 
moved. No:  they  must  know  nothing  of  Brian,  he 
must  remain  free  to  find  her.  And  he  would  find 
her.  They  two  were  not  parted  finally.  He  would 
not  let  them  take  her  away:  his  country  was  her 
country,  his  people  her  people,  his  God  her  God. 
With  God  and  Brian  Kelly  on  her  side,  how  should 
she  be  hopeless  or  too  much  afraid? 

The  door  was  unlocked,  and  Marya  Jadwiga  was 
taken  upstairs,  to  this  room  on  the  third  floor  back. 
Heavy  curtains  at  the  windows,  although  the  August 
night  was  warm.  An  iron  safe  in  one  corner.  A 
leather-covered  lounge  near  by.  A  great  desk  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  under  the  chandelier.  Two 
green  desk  lamps,  the  wires  for  which  -  were  fitted 


GOD— AND  BRIAN  KELLY  389 

into  the  chandelier,  lighted  the  desk.  As  Marya  Jad- 
wiga  entered,  a  man  looked  up  from  a  revolving-chair. 
He  had  evidently  just  come  in,  and  she  gathered 
that  it  was  for  him  they  had  waited.  He  was  an 
entire  stranger  to  her,  but  he  evidently  was  satisfied 
as  to  her  identity,  for,  after  a  sharp  glance,  he  ad- 
dressed her  by  name.  He  allowed  her  to  stand;  ito- 
deed,  there  was  no  chair  on  which  she  might  sit. 
And,  while  she  stood  before  him,  he  picked  up  some 
papers  from  the  desk,  and,  glancing  at  them  from 
time  to  time,  gave  her  a  very  neat  little  resume  of 
what  had  happened  to  her  since  the  night  of  her  flight 
from  home.  He  even  knew  the  amount  of  the  reward 
offered  by  the  old  gentleman.  He  knew  Fran- 
ciszka  Lanska's  part  in  the  affair.  Marya  Jadwiga 
gathered  that  Franciszka  had  been  interviewed  by 
this  man's  agents;  she  suspected  that  Franciszka 
was  not  allowed  to  be  happy!  When  he  had  con- 
cluded his  summary,  he  said  sharply: 

"As  you  can  perceive,  the  next  step  was  to  bring 
you  where  we  could  interview  you  privately. ' ' 

"You  are  rather  high-handed,  considering  that  this 
is  America,"  she  began. 

"In  America,  as  elsewhere,  possession  is  nine 
points  of  the  law.  The  great  thing  is  that  we  have 
you." 

And  then  had  begun  the  grueling.  Over  and  over 
and  over  and  over,  like  water  falling  on  one  certain 
spot,  he  repeated,  reiterated  maddeningly — until 
one's  brain  turned — his  insistent  questioning.  At 
regular  intervals,  like  the  inevitably  falling  drop  of 


390  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

water,  he  shot  the  same  question  at  her.  Marya 
Jadwiga  was  put  through  the  degree. 

He  coaxed,  questioned,  argued,  made  flat  state- 
ments, threatened.  He  had  told  her  he  must 
presently  "persuade  her  to  speak  out,  to  tell  the 
truth"!  She  had  eaten  a  light  lunch.  She  had 
had  no  dinner,  and  it  was  now  past  nine  o'clock. 
She  was  not  allowed  to  sit  down.  Her  nerves  were 
still  raw  from  her  recent  experiences.  She  was  dis- 
tracted with  anxiety  about  Mother  Callaghan,  bound 
and  gagged  before  her  eyes.  She  had  pictured 
Brian  ?s  anger  and  fear,  and  the  consternation  her  de- 
parture must  have  caused.  With  this  weight  upon 
her  heart,  it  was  all  she  could  do  to  keep  her  courage 
at  the  sticking-point,  to  face  her  questioner.  And 
now  he  had  made  good  his  threat.  He  was  trying  to 
"persuade  her"  to  "tell  the  truth." 

Her  small  body  was  taut  as  a  strung  bow.  She 
could  not  help  a  whimper  of  pain  at  times.  But 
her  green  eyes  were  unconquered.  Her  mouth  did 
not  sag.  It  was  a  fight  to  the  death  between  her 
and  this  sinister  power  which  had  caught  her. 
Against  this  terrible  power  she  had  but  two  assets — 
God  and  Brian  Kelly.  And  she  had  been  told  that 
"God  was  far  above  and  the  Tsar  was  far  away" — 
that  grim  Russian  proverb  which  applies  to  the 
unavenged  wrongs  of  the  innocent,  the  helpless. 
She  had  been  told  that  any  of  her  friends  who  med- 
dled in  this  affair  would  be  dealt  with  summarily, 
"put  out  of  business." 


GOD— AND  BRIAN  KELLY  391 

One  thing  stuck  in  her  mind,  and  stayed  there 
puzzlingly.  They  had  never  mentioned  the  Japa- 
nese. Evidently  then  they  knew  nothing  of  the  Jap- 
anese. The  Baron  von  Rittenheim  had  not  known  of 
the  Japanese,  either.  Her  father  had  kept  that  se- 
cret. And  suddenly,  as  in  a  flash,  the  girl  began  to 
see  the  truth.  The  Japanese  had  been  the  crux  of 
Zuleski's  plan.  It  came  to  her  that  it  did  not  matter 
so  much,  after  all,  about  German,  or  Russian.  It  had 
been  the  golden  man  who  really  counted.  That  had 
been  what  Florian  Zuleski  really  staked  and  played 
for;  and  why,  at  the  last,  he  had  risked  even  her. 
That  had  been  his  terrible  and  ironic  repayment  to 
those  who  had  knouted  his  father,  put  his  grandfather 
to  the  sword,  widowed  his  mother,  beggared  his  coun- 
try. Thus  did  he  repay  them.  And  she  herself, 
Marya  Jadwiga,  had  been  but  a  blind  instrument  in 
the  hand  of  Fate — maybe  of  God.  Who  knows? 

She  wondered  what  the  Russian  and  the  German 
would  say  or  do  if  they  should  discover  that  truth. 
Conflicting  emotions,  pain,  weariness  bewildered  her. 
Sweat  ran  down  her  face  blindingly,  and  she  could 
not  put  up  a  hand  to  wipe  it  out  of  her  eyes,  before 
which  danced  red  flashes.  She  was  so  slight  that 
one  might  fancy  her  weak,  but  she  was  really  aston- 
ishingly strong,  as  most  beautifully  made  things  are. 
But  bodily  strength  has  its  limits,  and  hers  was  failing 
her.  The  insistent  voice  came  at  regular  intervals: 

' '  What  did  you  do  with  the  papers  ?  You  had  the 
papers.  Have  you  given  them  to  the  German? 


392  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

What  did  you  do  with  the  papers ?  What  did  you  do 
with  the  papers?  What  did  you  do — "  And  the 
hands  upon  her  twisted  her. 

She  locked  her  lips  to  keep  from  crying  aloud, 
and  fixed  her  brave  young  eyes  on  her  questioner. 
There  were  contempt  and  disdain  and  pride  in  that 
glance,  but  no  fear ;  no  yielding. 

She  was  more  recalcitrant,  less  amenable  to  "  per- 
suasion" than  most,  her  inquisitor  reflected — but  all 
the  more  psychologically  interesting.  He  would  have 
been  rather  disappointed  if  she  had  yielded  quickly. 
It  was  going  to  take  fine  handling  to  break  this  one ! 
He  meant  to  break  her,  of  course;  get  her  out  of 
America,  turn  her  over  to  Czadowska.  But  he 
would  experiment  on  her  before  Czadowska  got 
her.  Perhaps  he  'd  better  try  somewhat  different  tac- 
tics? He  didn't  want  really  to  injure  her.  That 
would  n  't  get  them  anywhere.  He  made  a  slight  sign, 
and  the  man  who  held  her  took  his  hands  off  her  at 
last.  She  stood  staggering. 

"I  have  had  enough,  me,"  growled  he  who  had 
been  manhandling  her.  And,  without  waiting  for 
orders,  he  went  out  of  the  room  and  closed  the  door. 
The  master  of  ceremonies  looked  after  him  thought- 
fully. Then  he  looked  at  Marya  Jadwiga.  She  had 
a  bad  effect  on  subordinates.  He  had  never  known 
Anton  to  behave  like  this  before. 

Marya  Jadwiga  tried  to  control  her  trembling 
body,  to  summon  all  her  powers,  but  only  partly 
succeeded.  That  she  remained  standing,  that  she 


GOD— AND  BRIAN  KELLY  393 

did  not  collapse  in  a  crying  heap  astonished  him. 

"You  are  a  very  obstinate  little  lady.  I  'm  afraid 
a  mere  man  doesn't  know  how  to  deal  with  you, 
Countess.  Perhaps  you  might  be  more  willing  to 
talk  to  the  women  ? "  he  purred. 

He  observed  that  she  moistened  her  lips,  and  that 
a  slow  red  crept  for  a  moment  into  her  white  face. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  "I  confess  I  find  this  scene 
unpleasant.  I  shall  go  home  and  get  some  sleep. 
You  can  stay  here  with  the  women.  They  '11  keep 
you  entertained. ' '  He  turned,  and  touched  a  bell  on 
his  desk. 

She  stood  rigid.  The  door  opened,  and  the  two 
women  who  had  searched  her  entered  the  room. 
They  were  large  women.  One  had  gray  hair  and 
gray  eyes  and  a  gray  face.  The  other  was  younger, 
but  no  softer.  They  were  as  gentle  as  a  headsman's 
ax,  the  pair  of  them.  Both  glanced  at  her,  as  prison 
matrons  may  look  at  a  woman  convict  they  mean  to 
discipline. 

The  man  stretched  himself. 

"Take  her  in  charge.  I  wish  to  know  what  she 
has  done  with  certain  papers.  She  refuses  to  tell. 
See  what  you  can  do  to  make  her  change  her  mind." 

Their  hands  were  on  her  again,  a  big  woman  on 
each  side  of  her — and  she  was  .so  small,  so  helpless! 
For  the  first  time  her  spirit  failed  her.  She  was 
afraid  of  these  terrible,  sexless,  merciless  women. 
They  led  her  to  the  door ;  they  were  taking  her  down- 
stairs. At  that  moment  the  door  bell  rang.  The  two 


394  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

women  and  the  man  looked  around  at  one  another. 

""Would  that  be  G  rigor?"  muttered  the  man  aloud. 
"We  didn't  expect  him—" 

The  bell  rang  again.  And  then  came  a  splintering 
crash,  and  a  cry  from  downstairs.  A  great  shout 
rang  above  it : 

"Mary  a  Jadwiga!  Mary  a  Jadwiga!" 

"Into  the  attic!"  hissed  the  man,  and  the  women 
turned  to  seize  her.  But  before  they  could  restrain 
her  her  scream  echoed  through  the  house. 

They  had  her  then,  throttling  her. 

"By  the  roof!"  she  heard,  and  she  was  dragged 
forward.  Her  struggles  impeded  their  progress. 
If  she  had  been  less  spent,  they  would  have  found  it 
harder  to  hold  her. 

They  had  gotten  her  into  the  attic,  and  had 
slammed  shut  the  door.  She  could  see  the  man  ahead 
of  them  push  aside  a  skylight. 

"If  you  don't  keep  quiet,  you  '11  go  over  the  side 
wall,  by  God!"  he  told  her  savagely.  And  dragged 
by  him  and  pushed  by  the  women,  she  felt  herself  be- 
ing carried  up  rickety,  narrow  steps.  Her  senses 
reeled.  There  was  a  gust  of  fresh  night  air,  a  fleet- 
ing glimpse  of  sky  and  stars.  Then  another  shout, 
the  sound  of  men's  feet  running,  a  heavy  crash.  She 
was  being  dragged  backward.  The  trapdoor  opening 
upon  the  roof  fell  to  with  a  banging  crash.  There 
was  a  shot.  A  lantern  flashed.  In  another  moment 
an  electric  bulb  was  turned  on. 

They  were  in  a  dusty,   musty  attic.    Men  were 


GOD— AND  BRIAN  KELLY  395 

swaying  back  and  forth.  Somebody — the  man  with 
the  black  beard — was  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  narrow 
ladder-stairs.  The  man  in  the  blouse,  with  a  police- 
man gripping  his  arm,  stood  blinking  down  at  him, 
stupidly.  Other  men  in  uniform  held  two  sullen 
women.  She  herself  was  caught  up  by  a  blue-sleeved 
arm,  and  brass  buttons  were  pressing  into  her  cheek. 
God  and  Brian  Kelly  had  not  failed  her. 


CHAPTER  XX 
"AND  READ  LIFE'S  MEANING  IN  EACH  OTHER'S  EYES" 

BRIAN  held  her  close,  all  the  way  home.  It  was 
heavenly  to  lean  against  him,  to  let  her  tired 
body  relax  in  the  curve  of  his  arm,  to  feel  his 
firm  clasp.  She  had  known  he  would  come,  that  he 
Would  find  her:  it  had  been  that  which  upheld  her 
courage,  gave  her  strength  to  hold  out.  How  could 
she  have  been  doubtful?  She  had  God — and  Brian 
Kelly! 

The  huge  policemen  who  seemed  to  overflow  the 
car  with  their  great  bulk,  were  silently  considerate. 
They  looked  straight  ahead  of  them.  Nobody  was 
talking  much.  Marya  Jadwiga  did  not  have  to  talk; 
she  was  content  to  lean  against  her  big  young  lover, 
and  feel  safe,  and  cared  for,  and  sure.  Once  or  twice 
she  put  up  her  fingers  and  touched  his  cheek.  And 
once  she  lifted  his  hand  and  held  it  for  a  long  time 
against  her  cheek. 

Then  they  were  at  home  again.  Mother  Callaghan 
cried  out  at  sight  of  the  girl  clinging  to  Brian  Kelly 's 
hand.  She  was  a  sorry  sight,  her  hair  disheveled, 
her  thin  blouse  in  ribbons,  the  marks  of  cruel  fingers 
on  her  arms  and  shoulders.  She  looked  so  like  a 
beaten  child  that  Miss  Honora  held  her  close,  and 
wept. 

396 


READ  LIFE'S  MEANING  397 

Somewhat  to  her  surprise,  the  Baron  von 
Eittenheim  was  there,  too.  She  had  never  seen  him 
look  so  human,  so  concerned,  so  angry.  There  was 
another  man  present,  big,  white-haired,  with  gray 
eyes  under  bushy  brows,  and  a  fighting  face.  And 
Jimmy  Darlington  and  Monsieur  Jacques.  Mr. 
Darlington  stayed  close  beside  Colette  0  'Shane.  One 
knew  to  whom  Jimmy  belonged ! 

The  baron  took  -her  hand,  and  led  her  to  a  chair. 
He  said,  breathing  quickly,  as  though  he  had  been 
running : 

"We  have  been  deeply  concerned  about  you.  It 
was  a  bold  move,  that,  and  they  very  nearly  suc- 
ceeded." He  looked  at  her  torn  blouse,  at  her 
wrenched  arms,  and  his  face  grew  dark.  "They — 
handled  you?"  he  asked  thickly.  "They  handled 
you!  You.!"  He  put  his  hands  to  his  face. 

"I  knew  it  would  be  all  right,"  she  said  quietly. 
"Somehow  I  felt  quite  sure  it  would  be  all  right — 
after  a  while.  I — I  told  him  that  God  remains.  I 
was  sure  I  should  be  found.  I  was  sure  help  would 
come."  She  paused,  and  said  significantly,  "I  told 
him  I  was  American,  but  he  laughed." 

"Ach,  Countess,  he  could  afford  to  laugh!  You 
are  a  Russian  subject, ' '  said  the  baron,  gently.  ' '  For 
which  reason  we  aren't  out  of  the  woods  yet.  "We 
must  depend  upon  your  good  friend,  Mr.  Kelly's 
father,  here,  to  exert  his  influence  in  your  behalf." 
The  baron  bowed  to  Dominick  with  respect.  He  had 
seen  how  Mr.  Kelly — he  knew  what  Kelly  it  was  now, 
and  what  that  name  represented — could,  as  he  said 


398  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

himself,  "make  things  move  in  a  hurry."  The  great 
giantess  of  a  city  had  stirred  herself,  stretched  out 
her  enormous  hand,  been  pleased  to  exert  her  tre- 
mendous powers — at  a  word  from  this  man  Kelly. 
And — he  was  the  policeman's  father!  He  had  the 
power  almost  of  an  emperor,  a  tsar.  And — he  was 
the  policeman's  father!  That  all  but  stupefied  the 
baron.  It  could  not  happen  anywhere  but  in  this 
mad  America,  he  reflected.  But,  for  all  Mr.  Kelly's 
power,  the  girl  remained  a  Russian  subject.  The 
Russians  could  take  steps  against  her.  They  could 
have  her  deported,  perhaps.  There  would  be  trouble. 

And  then  Brian  Kelly  spoke,  feeling  himself  at  last 
free  to  do  so : 

"Marya  Jadwiga  is  quite  right.  She  is  no  longer 
a  Russian  subject.  They  really  can't  touch  her: 
she  's  an  American  citizen. ' '  He  hesitated,  and  then 
went  on:  " There  was  but  one  course  open,  under 
the  circumstances.  I — well,  I  persuaded  her  to  take 
that." 

The  baron  stood  still  in  his  tracks.    He  said  tersely: 

"You  mean — " 

"The  wife  of  an  American  citizen  is  also  an 
American  citizen,  to  be  protected  by  the  power  of 
American  law." 

"You  married  her?  She  married  you?"  cried  the 
baron. 

"Yes,  he  married  me — five  days  ago,"  said  Marya 
Jadwiga,  softly.  "That  is  why  I  am  not  Russian 
any  more;  I  am  American.  I  have  an  American 
husband.  You  see?" 


BEAD  LIFE'S  MEANING  399 

"I  see,"  said  the  baron.  Astonishment  and  jeal- 
ousy almost  choked  him.  "It  is  what  might  be  called 
a  strategical  move.  But  Mr.  Kelly  doubtless  under- 
stands that  such  an  arrangement  could  not  be  perma- 
nent. Such  a  marriage  must  be  annulled." 

"Why?"  This  from  Dominick,  slumped  in  his 
chair. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Kelly — "  the  baron  spread  his 
hands  in  a  deprecating  motion — "the  Countess 
Zuleska — Policeman  Kelly — ' ' 

Dominick  stood  up  abruptly. 

"My  girl,"  said  he,  crisply,  "you've  been  and 
gone  and  married  my  son  secretly. ' ' 

"No,"  interrupted  John  Callaghan,  coolly.  "She 
didn't  do  it  secretly.  I  knew.  I  helped  arrange  it. 
Mother  knew.  Colette  knew.  You  'd  hardly  call 
that  secret.  "We  didn't  announce  it  because  we 
did  n  't  think  it  safe  to  do  so. ' ' 

Dominick  tossed  his  head. 

' '  'T  was  secret  so  far  as  I  'm  concerned, ' '  said  he. 
"You  married  my  son  secretly."  He  addressed  Marya 
Jadwiga.  "I  'm  told  you  're  a  countess.  My  son  's 
a — a  cop.  You  've  heard  what  your  friend  the 
baron  has  to  say.  I  'd  like  to  hear  what  you  have 
to  say  for  yourself." 

"You  are  Brian's  father?"  was  what  she  had  to  say 
for  herself.  ' '  That  makes  you  my  father  too,  does  it 
not?"  And  she  smiled  in  his  grim  face. 

"Does  it,  then?  My  son  and  I  disowned  each 
other, ' '  said  he.  "I  went  my  way.  He  went  his  way. 
He  'd  be  a  cop,  without  a  by-your-leave.  And  now 


400  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

he  's  got  himself  a  wife,  without  a  by-your-leave, 
either!" 

"You  disowned  Brian?  Ah,  I  am  sad!  I  am 
sorry !  I  should  like  to  love  you.  But  if  you  do  not 
love  Brian,  that  is  impossible!"  She  turned  from 
him. 

"Countess,"  urged  the  baron,  "I  beg  you  to  pause, 
to  reflect.  I  can  understand  why  you  felt  compelled 
to  take  this  unfortunate  step.  It  was  expedient. 
Indeed,  in  the  circumstances,  it  was  the  one  thing 
to  be  done  to  insure  your  safety.  It  remains  the 
one  thing  that  must  be  undone.  You  must  avail 
yourself  of  that  useful  American  institution,  divorce, 
as  soon  as  it  is  possible  to  do  so.  Mr.  Kelly  must 
understand — " 

Florian  Zuleski's  daughter  looked  at  Dominick 
Kelly's  son,  and  smiled: 

* '  He  understands, ' '  said  she. 

Dominick  jerked  at  his  mustache. 

"If  she  divorces  the  policeman,  what  comes  next? 
Who  '11  take  care  of  her?  You?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

' '  I,  most  certainly,  if  the  gracious  countess  will  con- 
sider me,"  said  the  baron,  shortly.  It  irked  him 
savagely  to  be  thus  questioned,  and  to  submit  the 
little  countess  to  such  brutal  questioning,  too ! 

He  had  to  admit  that  the  policeman  had  behaved 
very  well.  He  had  spiked  Czadowska's  guns  and 
made  it  impossible  for  the  Russian  Secret  Service  to 
proceed  against  the  girl  with  impunity.  Dominick 
Kelly  was  too  powerful  to  be  antagonized,  even  by 
them.  He  could  be  trusted  to  set  the  wheels  of 


READ  LIFE'S  MEANING  401 

American  government  in  motion  against  them,  and 
American  opinion  was  too  valuable,  too  vital,  to  be 
offended.  One  understood  that.  But  to  consider 
these  Kellys  in  the  light  of  father-in-law  and  hus- 
band to  the  Countess  Zuleska  was  impossible.  That 
he  should  admit  her  equality  with  himself,  her  fit- 
ness to  mate  with  a  Rittenheim,  was  itself  enough 
to  put  these  Kellys  outside  the  pale.  They  must 
be  made  to  see  the  situation  in  its  proper  light. 

"You  '11  marry  her  yourself?"  Thus  Dominick, 
brutally. 

"I  mean  exactly  that,"  said  the  goaded  baron. 
His  glance  at  Dominick  was  as  icy  as  his  voice,  and 
Dominick 's  wolf  temper  reared. 

"You  hear,  young  lady?"  he  addressed  Marya  Jad- 
wiga,  shortly.  "Let  me  tell  you  this:  you  owe  a 
great  deal  to  the  baron:  'twas  he  put  us  on  your 
track;  'twas  he  had  those  fellows  spotted  from  the 
beginning.  'T  was  his  men  led  ours  from  house  to 
house.  Thank  them  that  we  found  you.  They  're 
clever,  his  men.  You  're  owing  your  rescue  to  him 
more  than  to  Policeman  Kelly." 

Marya  Jadwiga  said  gravely: 

"My  grateful  thanks  are  due  him.  I  shall  never 
forget." 

' '  The  man  wants  you.  He  says  so.  He  's  a  baron. 
You  're  a  countess.  You  're  equals.  What  have  the 
likes  of  you  to  do  with  a — a  cop,  like  him?"  He 
tossed  his  head,  bull-like,  at  Brian.  "Listen  to 
the  baron — you'll  be  the  baroness.  Stick  to  the 
policeman — you  '11  be — Mrs.  Kelly!" 


402  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

The  little  countess  looked  at  the  big  policeman. 
He  remained  silent;  but  his  heart  was  in  his  eyes. 
He  would  not  press  his  claim  upon  her,  sacred  as  it 
was  to  him.  He  loved  her  so  greatly  that  he  knew 
he  could  even  give  her  up,  stand  aside  and  let  her 
go  free  of  him  if  that  made  for  her  happiness  or  her 
well-being.  He  stood  at  attention  and  waited;  and 
in  that  showed  her  his  trust,  his  faith.  Her  eyes  went 
from  him  and  met  the  baron's.  They  seemed  to 
Rittenheim  kinder,  sweeter  than  he  had  ever  known 
them.  His  face  softened.  He  said  in  his  beautiful 
German : 

''Do  you  remember  a  night,  a  spring  night,  when 
you  danced  under  the  white  moon  ?  Your  black  hair 
was  loose,  your  little  feet  were  naked.  You  sang 
as  you  danced.  I  stood  beside  a  window  in  the  old 
house  and  watched  you.  You  were  like  Spring  com- 
ing to  the  North,  my  little  moonmaid.  And  when 
I  looked  at  you  I  loved  you. 

"Do  you  remember  a  day  when  you  wore  an  ab- 
surd dress,  and  the  Rosen  girls  looked  at  you  with 
amused  eyes?  You  held  your  little  head  high, 
your  eyes  were  a  falcon's  eyes,  your  spirit  like  a 
sword.  You  were  the  nobler,  prouder  lady.  I  saw 
your  spirit  that  day,  and  I  loved  it  for  its  pride. 
You  were  so  young  then,  it  seemed  absurd  that  I 
should  love  you  as  a  man  loves  a  woman.  But  I  see 
now  I  did.  Countess,  will  you  put  aside  this  unfor- 
tunate American  marriage,  and  enter  our  house  as 
my  wife?" 


READ  LIFE'S  MEANING  403 

It  was  magnificently  said. 

"Herr  Baron,  I  am  grateful,  I  am  honored.  I  al- 
most wish  I  could  say  yes.  If — if — I  could  I  should 
be  proud  to  be  your  wife.  But — I  cannot." 

"You  feel  bound  by  gratitude  to  this  man?"  he 
asked.  "He  has  really  behaved  beautifully,  and  one 
respects  him.  But  he  is  honored  by  being  of  use  to 
you,  Countess!  That  is  reward  enough!  Surely 
you  will  not  feel  yourself  bound  by  absurd  scruples. ' ' 

' '  You  do  not  understand.  With  me  it  is  not  grati- 
tude, it  is  not  a  scruple"  She  colored  to  her  eyes. 
Lovely  confusion  covered  her,  but  she  held  herself 
to  the  truth.  "It  is  love." 

"You  love  this  man?  A  policeman?"  cried  the 
baron,  and  he  looked  at  her  with  blank  consternation. 
"Your  name — your  pride — " 

"My  name  is  his,  and — I  have  no  pride.  I  have 
love,"  said  she,  simply.  And  while  the  baron  stared 
at  her  strangely,  she  turned  to  the  other  man. 

"You  married  me  out  of  pity,  and  because  you 
wished  to  save  me?"  she  asked  him  directly. 

"I  wished  to  protect  you.  But  I  didn't  marry 
you  out  of  pity,"  said  he,  and  added,  slowly:  "You 
remember  the  night  I  first  saw  you?  You  were 
sitting  in  Madison  Square,  with  Wenceslaus — poor  old 
chap !  And  you  turned  your  head,  because  you  must 
have  felt  me  praying  you  'd  look  at  me.  I  wanted 
to  pick  you  up  and  marry  you  then." 

"Yes,  I  knew,"  said  she.  "And  you  still  wish  to 
be  married  to  me?  You  do  not  wish  to  go  free  of 


404  TWO  SHALL  BE  BOKN 

the  troublesome  girl  you  brought  to  this  house  in 
the  night,  in  danger,  without  friends,  without  a 
home?  You  wish  to  keep  that  girl?" 

"That  girl/'  said  the  policeman,  "is  my  girl. 
She  was  my  girl  from  the  hour  of  her  birth.  She 
was  born  to  be  my  girl,  and  nobody  else's.  I  knew 
it  when  I  first  saw  her.  I  know  it  now.  Don't 
you?" 

She  was  so  beautiful  when  she  turned  to  him  that 
he  caught  his.  breath.  His  heart  swelled  in  his 
breast.  To  save  his  life  he  could  not  refrain  from 
holding  out  his  hands  to  her. 

"Oh,  but  yes!  I  know  that,  with  all  of  me!" 
cried  the  little  countess,  and  walked  straight  into 
the  big  policeman's  arms. 

Brian  Kelly  said  gently,  ' '  My  wife ! ' '  and  held  his 
wife  close.  Over  her  head  he  met  his  father's  eyes. 

"The  luck  of  the  Irish!"  said  Dominick  Kelly. 
"But  I  've  this  to  tell  you,  young  man:  I  'd  a  talk 
with  the  commissioner.  A  very  understanding  man 
is  the  commissioner,  and  knows  my  mind  when  I  tell 
it  to  him.  And  we  think  you  '11  lose  your  job." 

"Shall  I?"  said  Brian,  unconcernedly.  "Well, 
there  '11  be  others.  I  can  always  get  a  job,  Dad. 
And,"  he  added,  proudly,  "I  can  hold  it  down,  too." 

"He  says  that  you  're  a  dam'  good  cop,  and  he 
hates  to  turn  you  off,"  said  Dominick.  "He  's  only 
doing  it  to  please  me." 

"Is  he?"  said  Brian,  and  pressed  the  dear  dark 
head  against  him.  Brian  knew  he  had  gotten  more 
than  Dominick  could  give  or  take!  He  was  not 


KEAD  LIFE'S  MEANING  405 

angry,  or  even  uneasy.  But  Miss  Honora  stopped  say- 
ing her  rosary,  sat  up  in  her  chair,  and  looked  search- 
ingly  at  her  brother. 

"You  can  get  you  a  wife,  but  I  can  lose  you  a  job. 
And  I  Ve  done  it,"  said  Dominick,  arrogantly. 

''Did  you  lose  me  my  job  for  a  wedding  present?" 
asked  Brian. 

' '  I  did, ' '  said  Dominick.    ' '  Just  that ! ' ' 

"Ah!  Because  of  me,  Brian's  father?"  Marya 
Jadwiga  asked. 

"Because  of  you,  Mrs.  Kelly,"  said  Dominick. 
"You  're  sure  you  still  want  the  good-for-nothing 
scamp  that  flouts  his  father,  and  marries  a  wife  on 
wind?" 

"No  one,"  said  the  little  countess,  "can  have  more 
than  all  she  wants  on  earth,  Brian's  father.  And  I 
have  that." 

Eittenheim  was  staggered.  His  own  pride  was  so 
much  of  the  stuff  of  his  soul,  that  he  could  not  un- 
derstand or  pardon  the  lack  of  what  was  to  him 
the  breath  of  life.  Forget  her  rank,  descend  to  the 
level  of  a  common  young  man?  But — good  God! — 
that  outraged  the  fitness  of  things!  Not  such  as 
this  could  be  a  Baroness  von  Bittenheim;  could  take 
his  mother 's  place  at  the  head  of  their  house !  And 
yet  she  was  Florian  Zuleski's  daughter! 

Another  fact  had  been  borne  in  upon  Ritten- 
heim.  If  the  Russians  had  seized  and  mistreated 
and  threatened  the  girl,  it  was  because  she  had  had 
nothing  for  them;  and  they,  like  himself,  had  been 
tricked  by  Zuleski's  promises.  This  added  to  his 


406  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

bewilderment.  Injured  pride,  jealousy,  rage,  as- 
tonishment almost  stunned  him.  She  preferred  a 
policeman  to  Karl  Otto  Johann  von  Rittenheim! 
He  wished  to  God  he  had  never  laid  eyes  on  any  Zu- 
leski!  He  would  have  to  go  back  home,  admitting 
that  his  mission  had  failed.  He  could  only  save  his 
face  by  stating  that  the  old  revolutionary  had  gotten 
the  better  of  them  all — had  played  some  grim  trick 
upon  them,  and  the  Russians  as  well:  Czadowska 
was  not  faring  any  better  than  Rittenheim. 

"Well,  Baron,"  spoke  up  Kelly  pere,  briskly, 
"the  girl  's  made  her  choice.  She  '11  keep  her  police- 
man." 

The  baron  bowed  from  the  waist.  His  heels 
clicked. 

"The  choice  remains  with  the  gracious  countess," 
said  he,  with  stately  politeness.  Even  Dominick 
admired  the  man  then.  "It  is  for  us  to  bow  to  her 
decision.  May  I  offer  her  husband  my  congratula- 
tions, and  wish  for  the  countess  herself  all  happi- 
ness?" 

"Don't  go  away  with  the  notion  that  she  's  done 
so  dam'  bad  for  herself,  though,"  said  Dominick, 
slowly.  "It  's  one  thing  for  a  countess  to  marry 
a  cop.  It  's  another  thing  when  the  cop  happens  to 
be  Dominick  Kelly's  son." 

Miss  Honora  leaned  back  and  began  to  say  her 
rosary  again. 

"I  told  you  you  'd  lost  your  job."  Dominick 
addressed  his  son.  ' '  The  commissioner  thinks  you  '11 
do  something  better.  So  do  I.  But  first  you  shall 


READ  LIFE'S  MEANING  407 

come  home  to  your  own  house,  you  hard-headed  vag- 
abond, and  let  your  wife  get  acquainted  with  your 
Aunt  Hon  and  me." 

"Well,  you  see,  Dad — "  began  Brian. 

"I  see  farther  than  you,  me  bold  Brian,  for  all 
iny  eyes  are  older  than  yours,"  said  Dominick, 
shortly.  "There  's  big  things  coming,  and — I  '11 
need  you.  After  all,  as  Hon  says,  you  're  my  son, 
confound  you!" 

Brian's  hold  tightened  upon  Marya  Jadwiga. 

"Wherever  I  go,  I  go  on  my  own  terms,  Dad. 
That  's  final,"  said  he. 

But  Marya  Jadwiga  looked  at  Dominick.  She 
wanted  to  love  the  old  man  who  was  Brian 's  father ! 
And  the  old  magnate  looked  back  at  her  thoughtfully. 
An  almost  unwilling  smile  struggled  to  his  lips.  He 
had  not  smiled  for  so  long  that  the  effort  was  pain- 
ful, but  he  managed  it.  Something  about  this  girl's 
black  hair,  now — Molly's  hair  had  been  black,  too. 
And  her  youth  and  sweetness,  and  her  loyalty  to  the 
boy — turning  down  a  noble  he-god  like  the  German, — 
and  she  a  titled  lady  herself — and  sticking  to  his 
own  lad!  The  more  he  considered  Marya  Jadwiga, 
the  more  she  pleased  him.  And  he  had  to  pay  back 
that  big  Junker,  who  looked  down  upon  them  all. 
Thought  the  girl  had  thrown  herself  away  by  pre- 
ferring Brian  Kelly,  did  he?  Hah!  But — Brian 
was  son  to  Dominick!  He  'd  show  the  biggest  lord- 
ling  of  them  all  what  it  meant  to  stand  by  the  Kellys ! 

The  girl  said  to  him  gently: 

"You  wish  us  to  come  to  your  house,   Brian's 


408  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

father?  You  will  be  my  father,  too?  You  will  let 
us  love  you?" 

"You  don't  know  what  sort  of  a  house  I  may  have 
to  bid  you  to,  child;  do  you?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"If  you  will  love  us  in  it,"  said  she,  "we  will 
come." 

Dominick  was  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel,  chol- 
eric, abrupt.  But  his  loves  lay  very  deep,  and  his 
heart  hungered  over  his  son,  and  his  son's  young 
wife.  He  could  not  help  loving  the  girl  who  had 
let  the  baron  down,  and  stuck  to  him  and  his  with- 
out knowing  or  caring  what  the  boy  had  or  had  not. 
She  had  saved  his  pride,  the  little  countess!  Did 
the  baron  think  Dominick  would  not  repay  her  in 
kind  for  thatf 

He  walked  up,  pushed  Brian  aside,  took  the  girl 
in  his  big  hands,  fatherly,  bent  and  kissed  her. 

Said  he,  in  a  curious  voice: 

"I  '11  love  you  in  any  house,  asthore.  God  knows 
you  're  welcome  to  mine ;  and  if  you  want  a  different 
one,  speak  the  word,  and  you  can  have  it!  You 
choose  my  son:  all  right,  Mrs.  Kelly,  you  won't  be 
sorry  for  your  choice.  He  's  like  me  in  this :  he  's 
a  one-woman  man,  my  son  is.  You  '11  be  his  as  his 
mother  was  mine.  I  'm  not  saying  anything  against 
the  baron — he  's  a  fine,  upstanding  man — but  take 
the  word  of  Dominick  Kelly  that  you  haven't  made  a 
bad  bargain!"  He  kissed  her  again. 

"But  I  'm  to  do  my  own  work  in  my  own  way, 


EEAD  LIFE'S  MEANING  409 

Dad,  all  the  same.  You  mustn't  lose  sight  of  that!" 
insisted  Brian. 

"The  commissioner  and  I,"  said  Mr.  Kelly, 
grandly,  "have  a  job  in  pickle  for  you.  It  's  with 
your  Uncle  Sam,  you  omadhaun — and  let  you  say 
your  prayers  you  '11  be  able  to  do  what  's  wanted  of 
you!  Anyhow,  we  '11  see  you  have  the  chance.  Are 
you  too  proud  entirely  to  shake  hands,  Policeman 
Kelly?" 

Policeman  Kelly  was  not.  He  wrung  Dominick's 
hand  with  a  grip  that  made  the  older  man  grunt. 
And  then  he  kissed  his  father,  boyishly. 

"It  gives  me  pleasure,"  said  the  baron,  smoothly, 
"to  know  that  the  gracious  countess  will  be  cared  for 
as  befits  her  rank.  I  shall  have  that  much  comfort 
to  take  away  with  me.  I  kiss  your  hand,  Countess. 
And  so  farewell!" 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  it,"  said  Mary  a  Jadwiga. 
"And  I  hope  you  will  come  through — whatever  hap- 
pens— safe.  God  be  with  you."  She  held  out  her 
hand,  and  the  great  gentleman  bent  and  kissed  it.  If 
he  felt  a  pang,  he  concealed  it.  His  pride  had  come 
to  his  aid.  Perhaps,  after  all,  things  were  better 
like  this. 

"And — and  I  am  grateful — oh,  grateful  from  my 
.heart — for  your  goodness  to  me  to-night!"  'said 
Marya  Jadwiga.  ' '  I  shall  always  be  your  friend. ' ' 

"And  I,  also,"  said  Brian,  "am  grateful." 

At  that  Karl  Otto  tFohann  von  Kittenheim  showed 
the  real  stuff  of  which  he  was  made.  He  put  aside, 


410  TWO  SHALL  BE  BORN 

smilingly,  wounded  love,  outraged  pride,  natural 
jealousy,  and  with  a  noble  and  manly  straightfor- 
wardness held  out  his  hand  to  his  successful  rival. 
The  two  men  looked  into  each  other's  eyes. 

' '  You  will  be  worthy  of  her :  and  you  have  won  the 
loveliest  lady  in  the  world,"  said  the  baron,  splen- 
didly. Then  he  turned  to  her,  gently :  ' '  Mrs.  Kelly, 
again  let  me  wish  you  all  happiness.  You  are  quite 
right.  To-night  has  proved  to  me  that  you  have  noth- 
ing for  us  or  for  Czadowska — or,  perhaps,  even  for 
Poland.  You  are  an  American."  With  an  enig- 
matical smile,  he  bowed  himself  out  of  the  room. 

Mary  a  Jadwiga  knew  that  Brian  Kelly  was  life's 
fullest  meaning.  But  with  the  baron  went  all  that 
remained  of  her  old  life.  He  had  known  the  old, 
old  house ;  her  father ;  Wenceslaus ;  herself  as  a  heart- 
free  child.  All  that  was  gone,  and  now  he  too  went. 
At  the  snapping  of  this  last  link,  her  heart  whim- 
pered a  bit.  She  suddenly  felt  how  tired  she  was, 
how  spent  and  weary. 

"God  forgive  us  all  for  forgetting  how  perished 
the  child  is,  after  all  she's  been  through!"  cried 
Mrs.  Callaghan,  rising  hastily.  "Colette,  dear,  do 
you  get  her  into  bed.  I  '11  run  and  get  a  glass  of 
milk  for  her:  she  's  needing  it."  And  Mrs.  Calla- 
ghan vanished  kitchenward. 

"You  have  all  the  rest  of  your  life  to  be  my 
daughter  in,"  said  Dominick,  very  gently — for  him. 
"And  I  've  the  rest  of  mine  learning  to  be  your 
father.  We  '11  start  in  learning  in  the  morning.  I 
wonder  what  '11  I  tell  those  dam'  reporters,  and  they 


BEAD  LIFE'S  MEANING  411 

plaguing  me  about  Brian  marrying  a  countess !  And 
he  playing  cop  for  the  fun  of  it!  Sure,  the  news- 
papers '11  be  wild  entirely !  Well,  I  '11  do  my  best ! — 
Mary  Callaghan,  I  '11  make  your  better  acquaintance 
when  we  have  time  for  a  talk. — Honora  Kelly,  will 
you  do  me  the  honor  of  coming  home?" 

Brian  picked  Mary  a  Jadwiga  up  bodily,  and  car- 
ried her  upstairs,  holding  her  very  close.  She 
slipped  her  arm  about  his  neck,  and  pressed  her 
cheek  against  his,  bent  over  her.  When  Colette 
took  her  away  from  him,  he  sat  outside  in  the 
hall,  his  hands  clasped  between  his  knees.  Dominick 
had  said  that  he  had  the  rest  of  his  life  to  be  her 
father  in.  Brian  knew  he  had  the  rest  of  his  life 
to  love  her  in. 

Colette  came  to  the  door  presently,  and  said  in  a 
whisper : 

"She  's  frightfully  exhausted,  Brian.  She  's  been 
through  a  great  deal,  poor  little  soul,  and  she  's  nerv- 
ous. But  she  says  if  she  can  just  feel  you  sitting 
by  her,  she  knows  she  can  go  to  sleep." 

Brian  went  in,  sat  beside  her,  and  held  her  small 
fingers  in  his  large,  firm  clasp.  She  looked  up  at 
him — a  lovely  look. 

"God — and  you — "  murmured  Marya  Jadwiga. 


278    0 


